The First Time You Died
by Noxbait
Summary: Post-Red Meat. The hours hadn't been any kinder to his brother than they'd been to Sam. Dean looked sick. And not just the "my brother got shot and is bleeding on the floor in front of me" kind of sick. As they try to put each other back together, Sam learns something about his brother's past he never knew. There are more pieces to pick up than either of them realized.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Here is the "Red Meat" tag I've been telling you about for awhile. It is 10 chapters long and already complete (although I'm still editing/polishing). I plan to post a chapter a week. Plenty of hurt/sick boys ahead.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1_**

Dean didn't make it to his brother's side before Sam's legs went out from under him, but he did make it there in time to keep Sam's head from hitting the floor. Achy, sick and more than a little dizzy, Dean gracelessly scrambled across the cold floor and caught Sam by the shoulders as he began to list to the side.

"Hey, hey, hang on, ok?" The words were coming out of his mouth without him knowing or caring what he was saying.

A mindless litany of sheer panic.

He could hear Michelle crying in the background, but his words, her tears, the pain and sickness he himself felt-none of that mattered. Dean couldn't change what had happened to her husband; no matter how truly sorry he was for it. The only thing that mattered now was the fact that Sam was sitting on the ground.

Bleeding.

"Sam?" Dean raised his voice, desperate to hear his brother say something.

He was still in shock at the mere sight of him. _He's alive!_ Dean needed answers, needed to know what had happened, how Sam had miraculously made his nick of time appearance. But answers, just like everything else, would have to wait.

Sam's face was grey, eyes fighting to stay open and his head was bobbing like his neck couldn't support the weight. The giddy thought crossed Dean's mind that he should comment on the fact that his brother's brain was officially too heavy for his own head, but he dismissed it immediately.

Because it wasn't quite as funny when Sam's eyes closed and didn't reopen.

Panic spiking, Dean shifted until he could get behind him. "Sam, stay with me, ok? Come on, talk to me!"

Dean was well aware he was pleading. Well aware how desperate he sounded. After the day he'd had, he felt like he deserved to sound desperate. Sam's head fell back against his shoulder and Dean was trying to do a hundred things at once.

He wrapped an arm around the front of Sam's shoulders to keep him upright and struggled to find a pulse. His fingers slipped on the sweaty skin of Sam's neck, even as his eyes were drawn to the blood. It was everywhere, spreading like spilled ink across Sam's clothes, and dripping off his lax fingers.

It was too much blood. Too long bleeding. They hadn't even had time to do much of a patch job before they'd been running through the woods again. And now it had been how many hours since the crack of the gun had rung out in the cabin? Too many hours. Dean swallowed back the rising nausea as he tried to come to grips with everything.

He couldn't think about how long it had been, how much Sam had bled, how he'd _left him!_ in that cabin for dead, couldn't think about the fact he had a werewolf body to dispose of, a mess to clean up, innocent people to somehow help. Dean couldn't think about anything except the too rapid pulse, the too cold skin under his fingers and the too still body of his _not dead!_ little brother in his arms. He stared down at Sam's face, sweaty, pale and dirty in the bright lights of the clinic and then he could breathe again.

Because Sam was looking at him.

The words Dean wanted to say froze in his throat.

Sam's lips turned up in a slight smile and he whispered hoarsely, "Decided I hate camping."

Dean's laugh was slightly hysterical but it made Sam smile wider so he didn't care. Dean said, "Yeah, I told you it was gonna suck."

The lighthearted moment faded as Sam closed his eyes, grimacing as he shifted slightly.

"Hey, easy. Take it easy," Dean instructed, patting Sam's cheek to rouse him. "Stay with me."

Sam gasped, breaths growing short and pained as if his brain had finally registered how much pain his body was in. His hands moved weakly against the floor, left merely finger-painting blood across the tile, while his right managed to make it back to his stomach.

"Sam," Dean tried again, his own free hand joining Sam's over the bloody wound.

"No," Sam's broken plea went straight to Dean's heart but he didn't release the pressure. Sam shook his head weakly against his shoulder and whispered, "Dean."

"Yeah, I'm right here, Sam," Dean said, feeling Sam melting more heavily against his chest.

When Sam's hand slid out from under his hand and dropped to the floor again, Dean's panic escalated. Sam was completely slack against him and Dean shifted so he could ease Sam to the floor. It wasn't graceful and Sam's head hit the floor a bit harder than Dean had intended, but he wasn't functioning at his best right now.

His entire body hurt and he felt so sick that he had to pause, once Sam was flat on his back, to turn away and get his stomach back under control to avoid throwing up all over his brother. Sucking in a desperate breath, Dean turned back to Sam and the turmoil in his gut was forgotten.

"Sam!" This time it was a shout. A shout of pure, unadulterated fear.

Sam was lying there looking so much like he had on the floor of that cabin, Dean felt tears spring into his eyes at the very thought, the _memory_ of thinking he was dead. And then he shook himself and pressed his hands against the torn shirts. Blood oozed sluggishly against his fingers, warm and slick.

He wondered if he'd gotten his brother back again just to lose him on the floor of a clinic where no one seemed to be left to help them. Sam moaned at the contact and, much as he hated causing pain, Dean was encouraged by the feeble resistance Sam was putting up against the press of his hands.

Dean could hear Michelle crying in the background and he was torn between thinking how insensitive it would be to ask for her help when her husband had just been killed in front of her eyes and thinking that if he didn't get help soon, Sam would be dead in front of _his_ eyes.

"Michelle," he called out, eyes never leaving his brother's face. "We need help."

Sam's eyes flickered open at his voice and Dean forced a smile. "Stay awake, ok? Stay with me. You're gonna be fine. You came to the right place. Walk-in clinic. And you walked in."

He was rewarded with a brief smile before Sam closed his eyes again.

"Eyes open, Sam!" Dean raised his voice and Sam did as he asked, although Dean could tell how much it was costing him to stay awake. His eyes were open, but unfocused and drifting.

Forcing himself to look away, Dean scanned the room. Michelle was pressed against a wall, sobbing as she stared at Corbin's body. He shouted her name again and this time she looked at him.

The awful pain in his heart, the fear of losing the one person he had left, the one person he loved, was reflected in her grief-stricken eyes and Dean hated himself. Hated that a nice couple had been taken and that Corbin was dead and she was a widow and he hadn't been able to stop any of it. Michelle stared at him, tears running down her pale cheeks.

He hated himself even more when he said, "Michelle, I need your help. I need you to find someone...the doctor...someone."

She didn't move, just stared at him wide-eyed. Dean stared back, anger beginning to bubble up. She was in shock and he needed her to snap out of it. Cold fingers brushed against his and he looked down at Sam.

"Go." Sam's voice was almost inaudible, yet loud as a shout in the silence of the clinic. His shaking hand was on top of Dean's; the warmth of his own blood a contrast to the chill of his skin. "I'll wait for you."

Dean shook his head.

Sam tried for a smile again and said, "Made it this far."

And, yeah, he had made it this far. Dean couldn't deny it. He was struggling to _believe_ it, but it was the truth. Sam _had_ made it this far and there was a determination in his eyes telling Dean that he didn't intend to do anything but make it the rest of the way. Looking back at Michelle, Dean saw that she had her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Even so, Dean hadn't let up pressure on Sam's side and he didn't intend to. He raised his voice and when he shouted her name this time, Michelle and Sam both flinched and he hated himself all over again. But Michelle's wide, frightened eyes focused on him and then she looked down at Sam and nodded without Dean even needing to say anything else. His shoulders dropped with relief as she started struggling to her feet.

He looked back at Sam and said, "She's going for help."

Sam still wasn't focusing well and he looked less in pain and more unconscious every time Dean looked at him, but he tilted his head ever so slightly in what Dean decided had been meant as a nod of acknowledgement.

Sam's hand slid away again and Dean choked back the fear and said, "Just a bit longer, Sammy. Hang on and we'll get you fixed up then we'll go and have a real vacation? Ok? No camping. No werewolves. Ok? How's that sound?"

He was spitting words out as if they would somehow stop the blood that was spilling out of his brother. Dean tore his eyes from Sam's face and looked at the wet mess that was all over their hands and Sam's body. _Too much blood._

"No camping," Sam whispered.

Dean looked back at him and grinned, "Deal."

"Dizzy." Sam's eyes fluttered closed.

"Sam," Dean raised his voice again, "Don't you dare!"

* * *

Sam tried to hold on to consciousness. He really did. He heard the panic in Dean's voice. Had seen it written all over his bruised and dirty face. So he did his best. Forced himself to stay with Dean as much as he could. Talking was more difficult at this point so he didn't bother trying to find words. Dean didn't seem to need words as much as he simply needed Sam's eyes to be open.

He got them open and the relief in Dean's eyes would have staggered him if he hadn't grown up seeing that look in his brother's eyes. It had taken years for him to realize, to understand, that the one and only thing his invincible big brother, his hero, was afraid of was something happening to him. As a little kid, he didn't get it. Too oblivious to the dangers, he'd settled comfortably under the warm protection of his brother. As he grew up, he started balking at the near obsessive protective streak.

Until he went to Stanford.

Eighteen and all alone, truly all alone, for the first time in his life hadn't turned out to be quite the utopia he'd told himself it would be. Up to that point, Sam hadn't needed to worry about details. His dad and brother took care of almost every detail in his life. Where they went and when-they held the power and the car keys. What they did and when-Dad was in charge of the hunts and the relocations. Even the food they ate, the places they stayed, the clothes they wore-those were decisions Sam rarely had a say in and never had to plan.

Getting away from his father and having a normal life as a normal college student turned out to be nearly his worst nightmare. Because he didn't know how to be _normal._ Not really. He knew how to want to be normal; even how to _pretend_ to be normal. But he didn't know what it meant to be normal when you were actually living with normal people who knew nothing of the things that hid in the dark. They knew the popular clothing brands, wore the trendy styles and listened to the popular music. He wore hand-me-downs and flannel and knew the words to every Zeppelin song.

He'd started missing Dean the minute he made the decision to go to college. But when he was there, registering for classes and realizing that he had to figure out a way to pay for food and to buy clothes and somehow get himself to and from classes, it sank in like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. For the first month, he stared at his phone every single night for hours with Dean's number lit up in front of him.

All he'd have needed to do was press call. But he never did because he was scared. Not of Dean, but of disappointing him. Leaving for Stanford had hurt everyone in his family; Dean most of all. Sam knew he needed to get through, to prove to himself that he'd made the right choice. And he needed to succeed so that he wouldn't disappoint Dean by leaving in the first place then failing spectacularly at the whole college thing.

Now, some eleven years and a few months after the night Dean had tackled him back into the life, Sam was lying bloody on the floor, again, fighting for his life, again. And Dean looked as terrified as he had every single other time that Sam had been in this much trouble. The over-protectiveness bordered closely on obsession and was sometimes more than Sam could take.

But right now? Right now, it was warming something deep inside him. Right now, it was the only warmth he could feel besides the warmth of his own blood. And the thought of the warm blood, the feel of it on his hands and everywhere else made him gag.

"Easy!" Dean's voice was low and his hands were gentle.

Sam felt himself eased slightly to the right as he gagged again. Nothing happened except the searing pain in his side increased tenfold at the useless retching. He'd thrown everything up in the werewolves truck that he'd used to get himself back to the Impala. Panting irregularly, he tried to move his hands back over the wound, but did nothing but drag them worthlessly across the blood-splattered tile beneath him.

"I've got you, it's ok," Dean said, easing him back flat on the floor. His hands returned to the bloody mess, but his eyes met Sam's as he said, "You're doing great. Just hang on. We'll get you patched up and then we'll get outta here, ok? Go home, veg out and watch every show on Netflix. Whatever you want. You pick the shows, I'll drink the beer. Ok? Then you can tell me what the hell happened out there and how you managed to get here in the nick of time, ok?"

Dean's words were rushed and unsteady and Sam gauged his brother's mental status by the sound of his voice as much as the words he was saying. Still fighting with everything he had left to at least keep his eyes open to reassure Dean that he wasn't going to die (he hoped), Sam could tell how bad the past day or so had been for Dean. For himself, time had ceased to matter; the hours blurring ever since he'd been shot. But the hours had not been any kinder to Dean than they had been to him.

He looked sick.

And not just the _I'm worried out of my mind_ kind of sick. Not the _my brother got shot and is bleeding on the floor in front of me_ kind of sick. Well, Sam amended, he did look sick for those reasons, but it was more than that. Dean looked physically ill. But Sam's mind was muddy, filled with pain that left him drifting into darkness every few seconds. As much as he wanted to focus on his brother and unravel what had happened since the last time they'd seen each other, he couldn't.

"Sammy, hey, hey, come on."

It was getting more and more difficult to open his eyes, but Sam managed to peer up at his brother. Dean was looking elsewhere, his lips forming words that seemed distorted and muffled. Frowning, Sam couldn't stop the moan that broke free as Dean put more pressure on the wound. Dean spared him a quick glance and from that glance, Sam gathered he wasn't looking so good.

"I need help!"

This time, Sam heard his brother loud and clear. Dean's shout had been loud enough to break through the fog. Trying not to struggle against the pain, trying to stay calm against his own panic, Sam fought for breath and kept his eyes on Dean. He started picking up on other voices nearby, but didn't dare take his eyes off Dean. He was pretty sure he wouldn't get them open again if he lost his concentration right now.

Dean was talking to whoever else was here now, and Sam felt fingers against his wrist and got the vague feeling that whoever was checking his pulse wasn't pleased. He wanted to tell them to be grateful; at least he still had one. For now. Things had been kind of dark and foggy for a long time, but now the darkness was getting worse and he wanted to rub his eyes to clear it away so he could keep his eyes on his brother.

Every once in awhile, he could hear Dean shouting his name, but mostly he just saw his lips moving. Sam wanted to answer his brother but the air was too heavy, the fog too thick, his body too cold, and the pain too much.

As he finally gave in to the pull of darkness, Sam's hope was that Dean knew he wasn't giving up. The last thing he saw was Dean's face, leaning close to his, shouting his name.

* * *

Dr. Kessler had stumbled toward them with Michelle just behind her. Dean spared the doctor a quick glance and saw that she looked worse for wear, stunned, but functional. He'd thought she was dead. She hit her knees on the other side of Sam and Dean let his attention return to his brother.

Sam was fighting with everything he had, but Dean could tell he was fading fast. Considering how long he'd been fighting, how long he'd been bleeding, Dean couldn't blame his brother. Didn't mean it wasn't terrifying. The doctor was asking questions and Dean struggled to answer them while he kept calling Sam's name and trying to hold his attention. Sam didn't seem able to respond anymore, but he was keeping his eyes open at least.

"We need to stop the bleeding," Dr. Kessler was saying and Dean fought the urge to laugh.

"You're the doctor, got any suggestions?" he asked, watching her checking Sam's pulse. It seemed so pointless. He could have told her what Sam's pulse was simply by the feel of the blood pumping out in warm spurts all over his hands. His brother's eyes slid shut for the umpteenth time and Dean again called his name.

Dr. Kessler looked up, panic written on her face. "I...he needs...he needs more than I can do here-"

Dean shook his head, teeth grinding as he listened to her. Unable to take it any longer, he spat, "You don't get to say that. You're a doctor. Do something or I will!"

The doctor appeared close to shock like Michelle, and sheer, unbridled, unstoppable panic flooded Dean. Another look at Sam and his panic tripled. He leaned close and shouted his brother's name at the top of his lungs. It didn't stop Sam's eyes from falling closed this time.

"No!" Dean's voice was loud and broken. He shook his head, not willing to give up; not willing to believe it.

"He's unconscious," the doctor said, unnecessarily, but at least she looked back in the game. Her hands were fumbling in her pocket and she pulled out a phone. She dialed, then lifted the phone to her ear and said, "He needs a hospital-"

"This is a walk in clinic!" Dean shouted, "He walked in!"

"It's not an Emergency Room!" Dr. Kessler shouted back, eyes wide. "I don't do surgery here! I can't give him blood! It's just a _clinic!_ "

Dean felt her right hand over his and looked down as she pressed his hands harder against Sam's stomach. Sam didn't move, didn't whimper, didn't do anything. Dean looked back up at the doctor and vaguely heard her rattling off a bunch of words into the phone, but none of them registered through the drowning haze in his head.

 _It's a walk-in clinic,_ his mind screamed, as he stared at Sam's pale face and felt his still warm blood washing his hands in red. _He walked in. He walked in!_ It was a stupid thing to be hung up on, but in his current state, Dean couldn't help it. Tears were blurring his vision as he repeated to himself, like a mantra, _he walked in, he walked in…_ Hours after being shot, nearly a _day_ after being shot, Sam had walked into a clinic and saved Dean's life.

 _And you left him for dead!_

The urge to vomit swept over him, but he felt the doctor's hand squeeze his, and then he felt her other hand against his cheek and he dragged his eyes up to face her. She had tears running down her face and the phone was on the floor and he finally registered bits of what she was saying.

"-the ambulance will be here in a few minutes...going to be ok...do you hear me? He's going to be ok!"

Dean nodded against her hand and tried to believe even as his world tunneled. He stared at Sam, willing him to live while he did his best to stop the blood Sam had left from coating the hall floor. The doctor was there, she was doing something, saying something, but he didn't hear her, couldn't hear her.

And then there were other voices; male voices. He saw shapes moving around him, talking to him, but he couldn't respond, couldn't sort out what was happening until he felt hands on his shoulders, gently pulling at him.

At first, he resisted, stiffening and daring whoever it was to even try to pull him away from his brother. But then he felt a gentle touch on his face and stared into the doctor's eyes. The background noise settled out into something resembling words and he heard her say, "Let the paramedics help him. Let them help."

He looked around and, for the first time, was able to see the two guys in blue kneeling next to Sam. One was across from him and leaning down, checking Sam's blood pressure, while the other guy was right next to him and had already started an IV. Dean looked up into the eyes of a third guy who was holding bright white gauze in his hands and saying words that Dean couldn't hear. The guy pointed down and then the doctor was tugging his hands away and the paramedic took over pressing against the wound. Dean let the doctor pull him back a few feet to give the paramedics space to work.

Heart pounding, Dean's gaze drifted from the nightmarish scene in front of him to his hands. They were coated in bright red - _Sam's blood!_ Dean rubbed them against his jeans, wanting it to be gone, wanting his hands to be clean. A rush of dizziness swept over him and he turned away and vomited all over the floor.

Even as he felt himself listing to the side, Dean told himself he couldn't- he didn't have time to pass out - there was a supernatural mess that needed to be cleaned up and innocent victims who needed to be talked to, coached on what to say, what not to say. He tipped further over, slammed a still bloody hand against the white wall and lifted his heavy head enough to see the paramedics loading Sam onto a stretcher.

Then they moved away and Dean fell into the darkness.

* * *

 **What did you think so far?**

 **So...as a SPN fan, I loved this episode. As a medical professional...I had a few things I needed to fix about this episode. :) I could be wrong, but I've never found an Urgent Care/walk-in clinic anywhere that will have blood on hand for transfusions. They also don't typically do exploratory abdominal surgery lol. This story tries very, very hard to fit into the scenes you saw on the episode. I'm building in some "realism" and detail around the last few scenes while leaving the episode intact and staying true to canon as best as I can. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! You guys totally blew me away with all your lovely reviews! Thank you all SO much! I'm really glad you enjoyed the first chapter. Hope you enjoy this chapter as much!**

 **Also, as far as Urgent Care centers...I'm sure they do vary in different places, but overall, they are for 'minor' things. cough, sore throat, minor injuries needing stitches, etc. I work next to an Urgent Care and talk to the providers/nurses on a daily basis and see/hear the kinds of things they see and what they send to the hospital. We do get ambulances fairly regularly for people who need more than what the UC can provide. We have IV supplies for fluid boluses if someone is dehydrated etc and to stabilize people, but no blood. Blood requires a LOT of stuff in order to store it/use it/match it to patients. If someone needs blood or longer-term fluids, they're getting shipped to the ER. if they need surgery...um...they're going to the hospital lol! Probably more than you wanted to know... but just a hint at why I needed to write this story hahaha! Loved this episode, but Sam didn't get a few stitches and walk out the door a few hours later!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2**_

Going down the way he had in the clinic hallway had been embarrassing, but considering he'd _killed_ himself earlier in the day, Dean figured passing out shouldn't have been such a surprise.

He woke up in an ambulance and had a panic attack trying to figure out what had happened to himself and, more importantly, his brother. The only thing he'd been worried about had been finding out how Sam was, but the guy with the stethoscope and the penlight had acted like _he_ was the priority. Once he'd been assured Sam was stable, Dean had struggled to develop a convincing story to tell the EMTs to explain his embarrassing collapse.

He'd endured an examination that left him hurting worse than he had to begin with. Everything hurt. From his head, where a drug overdose-induced headache pounded, to his uneasy gut, to his broken ribs, to his muscles. Every single one of them. Being tasered probably hadn't done him any favors and his ribs screamed their protest.

Dean's head had felt four times too big and too heavy to lift, but he managed to give the EMT a disconnected version of what had really happened. Finding the honeymooning couple tied up in the cabin, the fight that resulted in Sam being shot, the overnight hike through the woods, being attacked at the clinic, his brother nearly dying. Exhaustion and worry and not eating for hours all added up to a bout of lightheadedness.

Of course, he didn't mention his ill-advised suicide attempt. Neither did the EMTs or the doctor in the emergency room, so he had to assume that the clinic doctor and Michelle hadn't said anything either.

They probably were so confused they didn't even know _what_ to say.

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the stretcher in the exam room. He didn't know how long he'd been here or what time it was. Three times he'd attempted to make out the numbers on his watch and three times he'd failed. It frustrated him to be so weak and useless. Unfortunately, whenever he tried to move, the room spun. He'd already vomited twice since reaching the ER and he wasn't in a hurry to do that ever again. Vomiting with broken ribs was a whole new level of agony.

Sighing, he pulled the blanket a bit closer. A few minutes ago, one of the nurses had grabbed him an extra blanket when he'd begun shivering uncontrollably. She explained it was probably delayed shock but he decided it had more to do with how cold the room was. Regardless, he'd accepted the blanket and was now waiting for more news.

All he knew so far was that his brother was still alive. No one had been able to tell him more, but the nurse who brought him the blanket had promised to go in search of information. Since he was tied down with an IV line in his right arm, an automatic blood pressure cuff around his left arm, and was still too dizzy to move, Dean was grateful for her promise.

They were giving him fluids and medications for the nausea and the blinding headache but nothing seemed to be helping. He still felt like crap. Dean wondered, not for the first time, if he should mention the overdose. He was alive, no thanks to Billie, but who knew if he'd done any damage to himself along the way?

The nausea and headache seemed to be the worst of his symptoms, although he found himself drifting into an uneasy sleep every few minutes. Maybe once the fluids and meds took care of things, he could grab some coffee and-

"Dean?"

A woman's voice. A cold hand on his cheek. The beeping of the monitors in the background had a different tone than before.

"Can you open your eyes for me, please?"

Dean frowned, trying to comply, but his eyes were too heavy and he was too tired.

A light seared his brain, ratcheting the headache up to a thousand. He struggled to pull away, to turn his head, to escape, but the cold hand on his cheek wouldn't let him go. His other eyelid was pulled back and the light nearly killed him again.

"Pupils sluggish, but reactive," the woman's voice continued. "Respirations ten now."

"Blood pressure?" A different female voice.

"92 over 58."

The second voice came closer. "Dean, I need you to open your eyes right now."

Why they seemed so insistent on waking him up after telling him to get some rest not five minutes ago, Dean didn't know, but it was irritating.

He forced his eyes open and the bright white of the room wasn't any improvement over the lightning bolt they'd sent through his eyeballs a moment ago. Blinking, he finally saw two shapes above him that looked more or less human. There was too much fog, and too much light to be sure, but he guessed they were both female.

"Thank you," the second voice said. "Can you tell me where you are?"

 _Now they want me to talk?_ The service sucked in this place. He was sick, couldn't they see that? Mouth dry and tongue dead-weight, Dean struggled to form words. Whatever he said apparently was satisfactory.

"Very good."

She might have thought so, but Dean didn't agree with her. Especially when she started asking a thousand other questions. He thought they'd already dealt with all of this. But they seemed to be concerned about his breathing. Dean had a feeling he knew why his breathing was a bit off but he declined to share that information with the class even though he knew he might be making a serious error.

If anyone found out about the overdose, he'd find himself in more trouble than he was already. And the last thing he needed was to have to deal with a psych eval. So he put a little more focus into the situation and answered as best he could to downplay their concern.

Shock. That was what it was. He was exhausted, dehydrated, hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours and had been worried sick. _And_ he'd been beaten up by a crazy person; Dean left out the part about how the crazy person had been a werewolf.

Too out of it to be sure, Dean guessed he'd been convincing enough because the interrogation ceased. The voices chatted between themselves about his chest x-ray and Dean tried to drift back into the peaceful darkness.

"Dean?"

 _Damn it!_ He forced one eye open.

It was the nurse. She was smiling. "Your brother is stable."

Sleep was forgotten and he was more alert now than he had been since they'd brought him in. "Stable?"

"Yes. They're prepping him for minor surgery-"

"Surgery?" That sounded like the _opposite_ of stable. If he'd had the strength, he'd have been out of the bed by now.

"They want to be sure they aren't missing any hidden damage," the nurse explained. "From all appearances, it seems like he got lucky, but they aren't taking any chances."

Dean nodded. Taking no chances sounded like a very good plan to him. Swallowing hard, he asked, "He awake?"

She shook her head.

"I need to get out of here."

She shook her head again, but this time she smiled. "You aren't going anywhere yet, I'm afraid. You just gave us a scare with your breathing. I know you're worried about your brother, but we'd kind of like to keep you breathing long enough to see him again."

Her words were gently teasing, but they hit him like a sucker punch.

"Once you're a bit more stable," she continued, "we'll get you down to the surgical waiting room, ok? It's probably going to be a couple hours before he'll be in recovery, so you might as well take advantage of our hospitality while you can. No warm blankets in the waiting room."

Dean tried to smile.

Once she walked away with a promise to keep him updated, he closed his eyes and hoped the fluids and medications were going to work quickly. He needed to be ok before Sam was awake and alert. Dean already felt sick, but the thought of Sam asking what had happened while they'd been separated put a cold ball of dread deep in the pit of his stomach.

He'd spun a believable story for the medical professionals, but trying to convince the little brother who knew him far too well wasn't going to be as easy. Because they'd been around this block so many times before that they didn't even need a map anymore. Sam would know he'd done something stupid because, if the situation had been reversed, he would have done something stupid, too.

Dean sighed. Their lives were so screwed up he had a difficult time remembering what it had felt like before he'd watched Sam die the first time. His world had fractured that day and every moment since had been spent living with the ramifications of what had happened. He'd made the deal to bring Sam back and neither of them had been the same since.

What he'd felt in that cabin staring down at his brother's still form had been the same pain, the same frantic, surreal, thoughtless _mania_ that had propelled him into a crossroads almost ten years ago.

Despite his circling thoughts and the endless worry, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

An hour and a half later, after more meds and being forced to eat and drink something, Dean was discharged from the ER. The nurse gave him a long list of instructions for taking care of himself and he pitched the paperwork into a convenient trash can on his way to the surgical waiting room. Once there, he spent the next half an hour talking to the cops about the disaster at the clinic.

For once, he was able to play the innocent victim. Yes, he and his brother had been hiking in the woods when they'd come across the honeymooning couple and, no, he had no idea who had been holding them prisoner, but Michelle and her husband had been badly injured when they'd found them. Yes, his brother had been shot in their attempt to rescue the couple.

Dean was surprised how much he was able to tell without a single lie. The only lie he told during the entire narrative was when he said he had no idea what the guy who had nearly killed them was. Dean acted just as confused as it sounded the doctor and the poor guy's widow were.

The cops told him both the doctor and the widow were being treated for their injuries, thanked him for his assistance and the fact that he and his brother had been willing to do what they could to help. The officers wished his brother a speedy recovery then left.

Relief settled over him when no one brought up the pills. Maybe they just figured the mess of pills on the floor at the clinic was related to the rest of the chaos. If the doctor hadn't said anything yet, Dean had a feeling she wasn't going to. And Michelle seemed like she knew how to keep a secret.

Taking a slow breath, Dean wrapped his arms around his chest. The nurse had been right; no warm blankets in the waiting room. Why hospitals insisted on being so freakin' cold, Dean didn't know. Didn't they know sick people needed to be _warm_? He shivered, resting his head against the wall to his right. He stared at the tv across the nearly empty waiting room, but it was too blurry for him to make out what was on it. His brain wasn't up to paying attention, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open.

It took another half hour of anxiously waiting before a nurse came out to get him. He'd stiffened up while he'd been waiting and every joint and muscle and bone protested being forced to move again. Hobbling like a ninety year old man, he followed the nurse to the recovery room. The fear was boiling up despite the nurse's assurances that everything had gone well.

It was embarrassing, but his legs went out from under him as soon as he caught sight of his brother. The reality of what had happened - and what _could_ have happened - slammed into him and the room spun out of control. The nurse caught his arm and guided him to a chair. Thankfully, she seemed to understand he didn't need a doctor; that he just needed to sit for a moment and breathe in the fact that his brother was alive.

Once she'd made sure he wasn't going to fall over, the nurse assured him again that things had gone well and that the surgeon would be with him shortly to give him the full report.

Dean hoped he thanked her, but to be completely honest, he couldn't remember if he'd said a single word. All his attention was focused on his brother. Which was kind of silly since Sam wasn't even awake.

Drawing in a deep breath hurt like a hot poker to his side, but Dean did it anyway because the panic and fear seemed to be permanently constricting his lungs. Keeping his left hand pressed to his burning ribs, he scooted the chair forward until he could rest his right arm on the edge of the bed. Deciding he didn't care who saw or what they thought, he reached for his brother's hand.

Sam's fingers were cold, but twitched when he touched them and Dean drew his first easy breath in over twenty-four hours.

"Never do anything halfway, do you, Sammy?" Dean asked, startled at how ragged his voice sounded. He swallowed against the painful lump in his throat and watched Sam frown a little and tilt his head toward the sound of his voice. Encouraged, Dean said, "Need to thank you when you're awake. Saved my life, man. I didn't-"

He broke off when his voice wavered. Blinking to clear his vision, he tightened his grip and felt Sam's fingers return the grasp. He wasn't awake, but Dean was thankful for even these small signs of awareness.

Of _life._

Dean was still staring at his brother when he heard a soft tap at the door. He looked up as the surgeon walked in, but didn't bother to move his hand away. The surgeon didn't comment, merely pulled up another chair, introduced himself, then gave his report on the surgery.

Everything had gone well.

The internal damage hadn't been anywhere near as bad as it could have been, although it had been bad enough. The real issue now was the infection. It would have been a different story, a much _better_ story, of course, if they'd been able to get Sam to the hospital immediately after the gunshot rather than almost a day later. He was on heavy duty IV antibiotics and wasn't out of danger yet, but things were looking up.

The surgeon asked if he had any questions, but Dean could only shake his head, not trusting his voice. When the surgeon left, Dean allowed the last of his defenses to fall. He leaned forward, resting his head on the edge of the bed.

"I'm just gonna sit here," he mumbled into the sheets and patted Sam's arm. "If you need...uh...some pudding or another blanket or you wanna watch HGTV just let me know, ok? Ok."

Dean shook his head back and forth, tightening his grip on his brother's hand. "Don't ever do this to me again, you hear me? Gettin' too old for this, Sammy."

Sam didn't answer him, of course, and Dean told himself to be grateful he was still resting comfortably because once he woke up, he was going to be in a lot of pain. Even so, he really, really needed him to wake up. Straightening, Dean left his chin resting on the edge of the bed as he studied his brother.

"Shit, Sam," he whispered, "this was too damn close. You could've...you almost...and I couldn't-"

He left the thought unfinished. His stomach twitched and he had to put his head back down against the bed. Even so, he almost threw up all over the floor. Figuring the nurse wouldn't appreciate having to clean up after him, Dean breathed shallowly and swallowed hard.

And then he was lifting his head at the sound of vomiting.

Dean's stomach threatened to revolt against the wavering control he had over it as he hit the call light. Sam only looked vaguely conscious as he threw up all over the clean sheets; not even aware of Dean's presence.

The nurse arrived a moment later and Dean hated himself, but he left her to it and made a tipsy, desperate dash for the bathroom. Hitting his knees in front of the toilet, he threw up everything he'd been forced to eat in the ER.

He was still leaning over the toilet when he heard someone behind him. A hand rested on his shoulder and he jerked away, reflexively trying to flee.

"It's ok," a feminine voice behind him said.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, which was good because Dean felt like he was about to spin off the planet. Another hand was on his forehead and he found himself relaxing into the touch.

"My name's Jenni," the voice continued. "I'm one of the nurses here in post-op."

"Take care of my brother," Dean ground out between heaves.

"Paige is with Sam. She's going to help him. Right now I'm taking care of you."

"I'm fine."

"Your name is Dean, right?"

He nodded, resting his arm on the toilet seat and feeling the sweat run down the back of his neck.

"Well, Dean, I don't think you're as fine as you're trying to be."

Dean wanted to deny it, but the fact that he collapsed over the toilet again right then was a clear indication that Jenni was right and he was wrong. He allowed the nurse to guide him to a seated position against the wall when the worst of it seemed to have passed. He was shaking so badly he was afraid he was going to break another rib.

"Dean?" Jenni asked, resting her hand on his shoulder again. She looked worried.

"What?"

"Can you take a slow, deep breath for me?"

Struggling to do what she wanted, Dean fought to blink the black spots from his vision. He leaned his head against the wall and studied the nurse. She was pretty. In her twenties. Far too young to be sitting in front of him and a toilet full of puke.

She smiled a little, patted his knee and pushed herself to her feet. Dean didn't ask what she was doing. He heard her softly talking to someone outside the bathroom, then the water turned on and he couldn't hear what they were saying.

A moment later, Jenni was kneeling in front of him again and pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. "Any better?"

He shrugged and took the cloth from her. Swallowing hard, Dean asked, "How's he doing?"

"Better. Paige's getting him something for the nausea."

Dean pressed the cloth to his eyes. He drifted for a moment, then felt a gentle touch on his wrist. Lowering the cloth, he saw that Jenni had a bottle of Gatorade extended toward him. She took the washcloth and said, "I need you to try a sip, ok?"

It was embarrassing, but he needed - and accepted - her assistance. Once he'd managed a few sips, Jenni put the cap back on and asked, "Are you feeling any better?"

Running a hand over his eyes, Dean said, "Yeah."

Jenni smiled. "Good. You need another minute or you want to-"

"I'm ready." He was _beyond_ ready to get off the floor.

Dean reached for the convenient grab bar on the wall above him and pulled himself to his feet. Jenni stood by, ready to assist, but not pressing which he appreciated. He was already embarrassed.

While he stood there wavering, Jenni smiled encouragingly and said, "I heard what you and your brother did for those hikers."  
Dean nodded, but didn't comment.

"It was amazing," Jenni added. "You're both heroes."

He didn't feel like a hero. He just felt sick and tired and old. Dean tried to force a smile and figured he must have succeeded because Jenni's smile widened a little more. Finally feeling able to move, Dean slowly followed the nurse back out to the other room. Another nurse was adjusting a fresh blanket over his brother. She introduced herself as Paige and thanked Jenni for the help.

Dean eased down into the chair next to the bed as Jenni left the room. He was relieved when Paige gave him a quick synopsis of how Sam was doing and what meds he was receiving.

Sam - for his part - slept straight through the entire discussion thanks to the meds Paige had administered. Much as he needed to see his brother conscious, Dean was content right now to see him _comfortable._

"Dean?" Paige asked, crouching next to the chair. "Sam's resting. How are you doing?"

"Better."

Paige smiled and pointed at the bedside tray where Jenni had set the bottle of Gatorade. "Try to take some sips every once in awhile, ok?"

"I will. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She pushed herself upright. "I'll be back to check on you two in a little while. It probably won't be much longer until your brother wakes up."

Dean watched her go, then settled back in the chair to wait.

Twenty minutes later, when Sam started to stir, Dean could finally breathe again.

* * *

The first thing Sam saw when he really woke up was Dean's face.

He'd been in and out a few other times; he remembered flashes of light and faces and confusion and pain and feeling sick and so cold that he'd thought he was back in the cage again. In those brief seconds of awareness, he'd fought to remember why he felt like that and why all he saw were strange faces when the one face he needed to see wasn't there.

Right when the panic and pain had begun to reach levels that he couldn't tolerate, a faceless shape had said something to him in a deep voice using incomprehensible words and something had slid over his face and he'd lost it completely. Sam remembered fighting with everything he had. Remembered punching blindly and feeling nothing but the terror of being suffocated until he felt nothing at all.

Now, though, he felt a lot and none of it was good.

"Sammy?" Dean interrupted his thoughts, voice raspy and broken. "You with me this time?"

Blinking slowly, Sam struggled to bring his brother's face into focus. Dean's eyes were bloodshot and underscored in black but he smiled like a kid on Christmas. Despite the smile, there was obvious fear in his reddened eyes. Dean looked haunted and wrecked and Sam knew it was because he was in a hospital bed. He just couldn't remember _why_ he was in a hospital bed.

Sam opened his mouth to try to answer Dean's question, but his throat burned as if it had been shredded and his mouth was dry. He closed his eyes because he was so tired just from being this aware. But he heard Dean calling his name with a bit more desperation and he forced his eyes open.

Dean scooted closer, his voice soft, "Take it slow, ok? You just got outta surgery a few hours ago."

Which would explain the disturbing feeling of floating while also being weighed down by a thousand pounds, Sam thought. It explained the fog, the sickness, the disorientation. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them back up, Dean was holding something in front of him.

"Ice," Dean said, keeping his voice soft. "Don't want you throwing up again, ok?"

Dean could fill up a room without saying a word. It was _him_ to his very core; the ability to dominate any situation with his vibrant personality. But there was more to him than met the eye, and Sam felt immediately at ease hearing his quiet voice. Despite the awful feeling of being drugged and sick, Sam let all of the confusion and worry drift away as he focused on his brother.

Dean held the spoon up and Sam didn't fight him when he offered it. He couldn't have taken the spoon if he'd tried. At the moment, Sam wasn't sure his arms were still attached. He felt disconnected from his body. But Dean looked happy he was opening his mouth and simply accepting an ice chip.

It made him happy too, because the ice tasted like a bit of heaven. He closed his eyes as he sucked on it till it melted, then looked at Dean again, hoping he could read the longing in his expression.

"Good, huh?" Dean smiled and got another piece of ice on the spoon. "Best stuff ever. Remember when you had surgery on your wrist? Man, that was a long time ago," Dean said in a tone of wonder. He lifted the spoon and Sam happily accepted it because the first bit of ice had not been enough to quench the thirst or quell the dryness of his mouth. Dean went on, "I think I bought three bags of ice the weekend after. You were so damned sick from that anesthesia."

Sam barely remembered that weekend. It had been one long nightmare of pain and nausea despite the meds. For two days, the only thing he'd been able to keep down had been ice because even water hit his stomach like lead. But he wished Dean wasn't bringing it up now because it wasn't helping the nausea he was _currently_ struggling with to be reminded of the nausea he'd struggled with years ago. He closed his eyes and sucked on the ice.

"Sorry, sorry," Dean said, voice unsteady and words rushed. "Sorry, I shouldn't have...are you ok? Is it too bad? I can get the nurse...she can give you-"

"Dean." Sam was proud of himself for getting his brother's name out past the pain in his throat.

"What?" Dean asked, and Sam felt a warm hand on his arm. He wouldn't have commented on the contact even if he'd been able to say that many words.

Sam stared at him for a long time, trying to figure out what he wanted to say, what he _needed_ to say. It was overwhelming and he was feeling worse with every passing second. He could read in Dean's eyes how bad things had been, how close he must have come to dying. How much Dean needed him awake. Needed him to talk to him. Dean was waiting for him to say something and all Sam could manage was to whisper his name again.

It seemed to work. Dean smiled, some of the worry dissipated and he squeezed Sam's arm, not removing his hand. "I'm right here. Everything's gonna be fine, ok?"

Sam mouthed _ok_ but didn't bother trying to say it aloud.

"Good," Dean said, squeezing his arm again. He set the cup of ice aside and rubbed a hand over his face, still leaving his other hand against Sam's arm. "Go back to sleep, Sam. You might as well sleep it off. Not like we're having a riveting conversation anyway."

Sam smiled and then fell asleep.

* * *

Seeing Sam awake, even as out of it as he'd been, did a lot to set Dean's mind at ease.

The past twelve plus hours had been an exercise in patience.

And torture.

Settling back in the chair, Dean watched Sam sleep and considered going to find the doctor from the clinic or Michelle. But he couldn't. He couldn't make himself leave the room.

So he didn't.

After another hour, Sam was moved to a regular room and Dean got a slightly more comfortable chair. The tumult in his stomach calmed by another degree as did the worry. Sam was in and out and never very coherent, but he was alive. Dean tried to catch some sleep in between nurse visits, beeping alarms, disoriented questions from his brother and his own lingering nausea and misery. Somehow they both survived the long, uncomfortable night.

As night turned to day and the long hours slowly went by, Dean accepted a glass of water, a cup of coffee, and eventually the hospital menu from the nurse. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he needed to eat something if he was going to be able to get through the day without face-planting.

Not that they were going anywhere anytime soon.

Sam's already high fever spiked just after noon. There had been no discussion of discharge yet and Dean was fine with that. He wasn't even considering leaving the hospital until a doctor _convinced_ him beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sam was out of danger.

Besides, he was tired and hurting too and didn't know if he could make it anywhere safely. The car was still at the clinic, so he was going to have to find a way back there eventually but he wasn't up to attempting to figure out the logistics of that right now. His head was pounding and he felt every bit as sick as his brother looked.

So he sat there all day, channel hopping, napping, and trying to hide how nauseated he was. Sam spent most of the day feverish and incoherent; only rousing to something resembling full consciousness a few times. He hadn't been good company, but Dean had to admit he'd tried. Tried to hold onto a conversation, tried to answer questions about how he was feeling. But it was a lost cause. Whether it was the drugs, the fever or the exhaustion, he'd drifted off mid-sentence more than once.

By early evening, the fever had died down to a low simmer rather than a rolling boil and Sam had been sleeping more comfortably. Of course, the sleep and the respite from the fever didn't last long.

"Dean?"

Lifting his head from his hands, Dean looked up at his brother and managed a smile. "Hey."

It was just after ten pm and it had been nearly two hours since Sam had so much as twitched. Glad as he was to see Sam awake, Dean sort of wished he hadn't awakened because they _both_ needed to sleep and Dean wasn't sure he could handle a full conversation with his brother yet. Sam was clearly still out of it from the toll everything had taken on his body and he hadn't gotten around to asking what had happened after Dean had left him in the cabin, but Dean knew better than to expect they wouldn't get there eventually.

"Time's it?" Sam whispered, his voice rough and unsteady. He looked a little more alert this time; other than that, he didn't seem any better than he had all day.

"After ten," Dean answered, then yawned. "How're you doing now?"

Sam swallowed hard. "You might have to buy more ice this weekend."

Pleased as he was that Sam remembered their conversation from before, Dean was discouraged to hear Sam wasn't feeling any less nauseated than he had all day. He hadn't been willing to try anything except the ice so far and Dean knew it wasn't just the anesthesia.

Getting shot in the gut was a good way to ensure a lot of misery. Not that Sam exactly had a choice about the location of the bullet hole. And the raging fever he had going on wasn't helping anything either. Dean had known without the doctor needing to tell him, how lucky Sam was to even be alive. Beyond the blood loss, if it had been any longer before he'd gotten to a hospital, he'd have been dead from septic shock.

"I'm going to talk to the nurse," Dean said, reaching for the call light. "They've got stuff to help with this."

Sam looked too tired to argue so Dean pushed the nurse call button and, when the nurse came in, he did all the talking. About fifteen minutes later, Sam finally looked like he wasn't about to throw up. Dean had to give him credit, though, because apart from the one episode, Sam hadn't thrown up which was better than _his_ track record. If the fever would just go down, Dean could relax.

Sam seemed to be reading his mind, because he said, "You should get some sleep."

"So should you."

"I've been sleeping-"

"No, you've been unconscious," Dean cut him off. He fisted his hands against his dirty jeans and hoped he was hiding how bad he felt. And how worried he was.

"Not the whole time," Sam smiled a little.

He wasn't moving, Dean noticed, but some of the lines of pain around his eyes had faded. Dean didn't argue with him, but asked, "How's the pain?"

"Better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded and Dean believed him even if he could tell the pain was still there. Sam went on, "What'd you tell the cops?"

"The truth."

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean smiled and went on, "Mostly. I mean I didn't say that he was a werewolf. They think he contracted some kind of weird disease. It's not really our problem. I couldn't get rid of the body before the ambulance and the cops showed up so I just let everyone think we were innocent bystanders in this weird drama. Which we basically were."

"Huh."

"Huh what?"

Sam smiled. "It's just weird that you could tell the truth for once."

"Very."

For a moment, they were silent and Dean hoped that Sam would fall asleep. This was the longest conversation they'd held all day long. Great as it was to hear his voice, Dean didn't feel up to chatting. But Sam, as usual, wasn't completely on board with Dean's plans.

He asked, "How's the girl?"

Dean shrugged. "As good as you might imagine."

"I bet." Sam closed his eyes. He shifted an inch and his face screwed up in pain.

"You need something for the-"

"No. It's fine," Sam said, opening his eyes. "I feel drugged up as it is. I can't think straight. I don't need-"

"You need to sleep," Dean tried again.

"You do too."

Dean nodded.

Sam looked conflicted and Dean knew he was probably feeling bad for having collapsed from pain and blood loss and scaring Dean half to death. All he said, though, was, "I'm glad you left the Impala where you did."

The bolt of fear that ran through him probably showed on his face, but Dean didn't care. "I'm glad you found a way to get there. Still can't believe that you hauled ass all the way from that cabin in time to-"

"Save your bacon?" Sam grinned even though it looked sickly in the dim light of the hospital room.

Dean snorted. "Yeah."

"It was more like dragging ass," Sam added, his smile fading.

"Either way. You made it and that's what counts."

Sam nodded once, then closed his eyes. "Go get a motel room for the night."

"Not happening."

"You might as well," Sam said, opening his eyes. "Look, I'm not even going to argue about staying the night. The drugs are worth it."

"Not that you're getting a choice in the matter, but you aren't exactly convincing me to leave when you're using that argument." Dean rolled his eyes. "Besides, you're not going anywhere anytime soon, buddy. You're here for the duration. I'm not sneaking you out in a laundry cart."

Sam snickered. "When have we ever snuck anyone out in a laundry cart?"

"Never." Dean grinned. "But it works in the movies."

"You're an idiot. And I'm serious. There's nowhere I'd rather be right now than at the receiving end of whatever painkiller they're giving me. I'm just going to sleep."

"You're running a high fever in case you forgot."

"I hadn't noticed." This time Sam was the one rolling his eyes. He glared and said, "You staring at me all night isn't going to bring the fever down. If that worked, I'd be healed by now."

Dean snorted. He had a point.

Sam sighed. "It's been a long day and one of us might as well get a good night's sleep. You sitting up all night in that chair-"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ask me again." Dean made sure Sam was looking at him when he added, dead serious, "I'm not leaving."

Sam stared at him a long time and Dean knew Sam wanted to continue the argument, but instead, he said, "I'm glad you're here."

Dean knew he meant more than that he was glad he was in the hospital room. Sam was glad he was alive.

His stomach flip flopped again, but Dean forced himself to remain calm and smile as he said, "Where else would I be?"

Sam smiled and closed his eyes.

Dean unclenched his fists, rubbed his hands on his jeans, and told himself that everything was going to be ok now.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Also! Next weekend I'm going to my first writers conference! So excited!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone! I intended to get this posted this morning before I left for the writing conference...but it didn't quite happen lol. I've had a long day of driving out of state, exploring, and enjoying a new place. Tomorrow is the beginning of the course I'm attending so I'm excited about that!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 3_**

Sam thought the night would never end.

Hour after hour, the fever pressed in on him, sapping his strength until he could barely force his eyes open whenever Dean called his name. He tried to speak, tried to make Dean understand, but his mouth was so dry and he never quite was able to figure out what he needed to say. Drifting in and out of delirium, Sam found himself lost in dark, terrifying dreams where he was running but could never escape the thing chasing him.

The dreams weren't clear and he had no idea what was after him, but he knew he needed to run until he escaped and found whatever he was searching for.

Even though, whenever he was semi-awake, he remembered he was in a hospital because he'd been shot, the memory of how exactly that had happened and who had done the shooting was always hazy. Dean talked to him off and on and it helped him know what was real. It helped keep him calm when he wanted to fight off the heat that blanketed him and the memory of hands pressing down over his face.

Breathing hurt and there were times when he found himself short of breath and struggling not to panic. Dean was always there to reassure him until he could calm down. Every time, Dean reminded him to take slower breaths and focus on breathing through his nose.

Sam had no idea when the fever had broken. He only knew there had finally come a moment when he had gone from feeling too hot to feeling too cold. He hadn't been able to get his eyes open, but he'd heard Dean's voice and it had lulled him into the first dreamless sleep of the night.

Now he was awake and staring at the room, feeling groggy, headachy and exhausted. The pain in his side wasn't intolerable, but he knew once he had to move it would be. And he _wanted_ to move. A quick peek around the room, blurry as it might have been, showed him that Dean was nowhere to be seen. Which was fine. Actually, it was better than fine because it meant Dean had finally felt comfortable enough to leave him alone for a half-second. Hopefully it meant he'd gone for food. There was brightness around the closed curtains so Sam guessed it was morning.

He wanted to get up and going, but found that he wasn't even able to move his arms without hurting. Everywhere. And as if the simple movement had awakened the pain, Sam closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He pressed one hand against the bandages and told himself he'd had worse. Which he had. Of course, it didn't make this hurt any less now.

Once he'd breathed through the initial shock of pain, Sam opened his eyes again and searched for the controls on the bed. He knew better than to attempt to sit up without assistance. The head of the bed was already slightly elevated, but he hit the button to get it a little higher. Once he had, he put _both_ hands against the bandages and, again, tried to breathe through the pain.

He regained control and had settled as comfortably as he could a couple minutes before Dean walked into the room. He had a coffee cup in his hand, hadn't shaved, looked like he hadn't slept in a month but was smiling like he'd won the lottery as he said, "Mornin' sunshine."

Sam shot him a glare. His brother was too cheerful for this early in the morning.

"Don't look at me like that," Dean said, still smiling and seeming far too amused. He sat down in the chair next to the bed and went on, "I think I got a right to be happy this morning."

Knowing what he meant, Sam didn't comment. Because he was pretty happy himself that Dean was alive and sitting there drinking what had to be his third coffee judging by the way his hands were slightly trembling and his bloodshot eyes were just a little too wide.

And suddenly, Sam's dreams made a little more sense. He'd been running through his dreams - and through the woods in reality - to get to the thing he needed most.

His brother.

When he'd realized Corbin was a werewolf and he'd awakened on the cabin floor, completely confused as to what had happened, his next thought had been that he needed to get to Dean and warn him. He'd assumed Dean would have taken the couple to safety, or at least was attempting to, and the thought that Corbin might have killed his unsuspecting brother had provided enough motivation to keep him moving. The rest of the harried journey, he'd focused on that thought every time he'd wanted to give up and just lay there in his own blood. Hearing Dean's voice when he'd called as he'd reached the Impala and finally found cell signal had been the best thing Sam had ever heard.

"Sam?" Dean's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, feeling a dangerous tickle in his throat. He was suddenly terrified he was going to start coughing.

Dean must have sensed it or read the fear in his eyes, because the coffee cup was on the bedside table in a heartbeat and Dean was offering him a spoonful of ice. Sam allowed it because he was that desperate to get something on his throat. Once the initial danger passed and he could breathe easier, Sam dragged a hand away from his stomach and held it out for the cup. Dean stuck the spoon into the cup and handed it over, sitting back down in the chair.

Sam held the cup against his chest because his hands were too unsteady to dare do anything different. He wanted more ice, but wasn't ready yet to let up the pressure he had against his stomach with his other hand. So, for the moment, he just savored the coolness of the first spoonful and hoped for the best.

Dean studied him for a long moment, took a sip of his coffee and settled back in the chair. "You look a little better this morning."

Sam didn't think he would agree if he looked in a mirror based on how bad he felt, but then again, he hadn't seen how bad he'd looked earlier and he had definitely felt _worse_ before. "I feel a little better."

"Yeah?"

Sam nodded.

Dean smiled again."Good. It was another rough night."

"Time is it?"

"Close to six."

Sam frowned, trying to look at the clock, but it was too blurry. A watch was suddenly in front of his face and he could make out the numbers after a few seconds of blinking.

Close to six.

Dean pulled his arm back and sat down again. "You've been sleeping since around four. You remember anything from last night?"

"It was hot," Sam answered, the very thought driving him to take the chance on moving his arms and holding the cup of ice with his left hand while trying to get his right hand to cooperate and scoop out some ice.

"Yeah. Cuz you were running a fever of 104," Dean said dryly, but there was no disguising the undercurrent of worry.

Sam didn't reply because he was too busy trying not to spill ice all over himself. Just as he was getting frustrated, familiar hands were pushing his away and taking the cup back. Since he was already thirsty and now had several pieces of ice all over the blanket, Sam let Dean take it.

"You just gotta wake up a bit more," Dean said, offering him the spoon again, "then you'll be fine."

The ice helped ease the dryness in his mouth and Dean's words helped ease the embarrassment of needing help for such a trivial task. Dean pushed the bedside table around until it was conveniently at Sam's right side, and set the cup of ice where he could get to it without needing to stretch. Then, Dean settled back into the chair where, Sam knew, he'd spent most of the night sitting.

"You ok?" Sam asked, voice still grating and painful, but at least he could speak without coughing. He waited for Dean's glib reply, but it didn't come.

Instead, Dean sighed. "Now I am. I wasn't. But I am now."

Sam smiled a little. "Yeah me too."

"It was another very long night." Dean yawned and rubbed his eyes then took another drink of coffee. "I thought you were gonna combust. You weren't breathing right and, I dunno what your problem was, but you went nuts when they tried to put the oxygen mask on."

There was a really good reason he'd gone nuts, but Sam was loathe to explain it to his brother. Dean was _not_ going to take it well when he found out Corbin had suffocated him.

"Sam?" Dean prompted, eyes narrowed in a way that told Sam he wasn't going to be able to avoid this discussion.

"What?"

"Don't _what_ me." Dean shook his head, leaning forward. "You got something you wanna tell me?"

"No."

"Something you're _gonna_ tell me?"

"Dean-"

"Don't. Just don't." Dean's tone was cold, angry. "Don't lie to me right now."

Sam knew his brother wasn't angry with him. Just scared and pissed and stressed. And probably angry. At himself. And Corbin. And a lot of other things. The problem was, if Sam told him the truth, Dean was going to be a whole lot angrier.

"Ok, but you gotta remember, I'm fine," Sam said, knowing he was already screwing everything up.

Dean's eyes widened and the coffee cup hit the bedside table. Hard. His jaw clenched a couple times, then Dean said, "Tell me now."

So much for finding a way to soften the blow. Sam sighed and figured he might as well throw it all out and hope the hospital would still be standing after Dean's inevitable explosion. He told Dean about Corbin's "solution" to the problem of his inconvenient injury. It was survival. It was madness and panic and fear and insanity all wrapped up into one big, terrifying mistake. Corbin had done it for Michelle. Because he loved her and was afraid for her.

Sam watched as Dean's face went from pale to grey. He'd tried to paint as favorable a picture as he could, while also reassuring his brother that, _hey, I'm still alive so it's all good!_

Dean didn't look reassured.

He didn't explode the way Sam had expected. Instead, he reached out with a shaking hand and hit the call button. Sam frowned and asked why.

"Because I need to talk to your doctor," Dean said, voice low and shaky. "He needs to know about this."

Sam disagreed, but kept his mouth shut and suffered through the next round of what he felt were unnecessary questions and tests. If he'd suffered any permanent damage, he probably wouldn't be around to talk about it, but he didn't bother to point that out either. In this case, Sam knew the best, the easiest, the _kindest,_ thing he could do for his brother was to allow the doctor to do whatever he felt was necessary.

Dean sat rigid in the chair the entire time, breathing heavily, bloodshot eyes monitoring every single move the doctor made. Twenty-five minutes later, Sam was deemed no worse than before and the doctor left them with a medical-miracle explanation of how he'd survived. From the way his brother looked, Sam wasn't sure it had made Dean feel any better. If anything, he seemed more troubled and Sam could easily guess it was because now Dean was beating himself up for not having checked more carefully to see if his brother was dead or not.

Feeling wrung out and more than a little emotionally over-wrought, Sam closed his eyes. He didn't know how to help his brother deal with the situation and, quite frankly, he was too tired to try. After a couple silent minutes, Sam forced his eyes open again. Dean's elbows were braced on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in front of his mouth as if he were saying a prayer and he was staring at Sam like he thought he was going to vanish if he blinked.

Sam met his gaze, then reached over and clasped Dean's arm. Immediately, Dean lowered his arm and returned the grip, just below Sam's elbow. It was easy to drift to sleep knowing his brother was right there next to him and not going anywhere.

When Sam woke up an hour later, Dean was still right next to him. He was watching something on TV although the sound was off. It took less than a minute before Dean glanced at him.

"Hey, sleeping beauty awakens."

Sam smiled, but didn't feel up to bothering with a mouthy retort. He assessed his brother while his brother assessed him. Dean looked terrible, but he seemed a little better than earlier.

He returned the smile and said, "The nurses are starting to make their rounds. You're due for vitals and breakfast and a walk around the block."

Even a groan seemed like too much work. Sam figured his expression was conveying exactly how he felt about all of that when Dean's smile widened a bit. He shook his head and said, "I know, princess, this whole spend the day in bed and be waited on hand and foot thing is pretty sweet, but don't get used to it."

Sam yawned and said, "I don't want to get used to it. I want to leave."

"Yeah, well, you're not going anywhere till the doctor says you can." Dean shook his head. "So don't even think about pushing anything cuz you will lose. Small steps and we take 'em one at a time. Depending on how you do today, maybe we'll get outta here tomorrow."

"Good." Sam nodded. He wanted to leave, but he wasn't looking forward to the fact they had a long trip back to the bunker.

"We'll hole up someplace, Sammy," Dean said, apparently sensing his thoughts. "Not gonna make you sit in the car for a twenty hour drive."

"It's fine-"

"No. It's not." And the steel in Dean's voice wasn't even as convincing to Sam as the look of devastation in his eyes.

Sam had thought he'd been terrified as he'd struggled through the woods, worrying about what was happening to Dean. One look at Dean right now, though, told him that whatever he'd suffered hadn't compared to the misery and torment Dean had gone through thinking he'd died.

So Sam nodded. "Ok."

And he was glad he had because the look of relief on Dean's face was worth it and did a lot to help alleviate some of his own lingering fear and disquiet.

"Last night," Dean said, softly, "you were freaking out about...I don't know...whatever you were dreaming about-"

"You." Sam's voice was as unsteady as he felt. Dean raised an eyebrow so Sam elaborated, "Was dreaming about you. Trying to find you."

For a moment, it seemed like Dean was going to make a joke of it, then he said, "You found me. And we're ok."

"I know." And he did but it really didn't make him feel much better because he could still remember the fear as he'd done what he could to make his way to Dean; hoping against every hope that he would find his brother alive when he got to him.

"Sam. I'm ok. You got there in time, man."

Sam blinked away what he wouldn't admit had been a tear and nodded. It had been too close.

For both of them.

* * *

 _The next day, early afternoon_

Dean rubbed his eyes and ran the rough washcloth over his face as if it would help wake him up or do anything to make him look less disheveled and dirty. He could have taken a shower, he supposed, but it hadn't seemed worth it. They were getting out of here soon and he just needed to take another quick side-stop at the clinic.

He'd slipped out yesterday afternoon when Sam had fallen asleep for what must have been the tenth time. After taking a cab to the motel they'd been staying in prior to the hunt, Dean checked them out, collected their gear then took the cab to the clinic. Intending to get the car and drive her immediately back to the hospital, his game plan had changed when he arrived at the clinic and found the Impala.

And the blood.

After spending a few too many minutes with his face in the bushes as he deposited what little he'd eaten for breakfast and lunch into the dirt, Dean had viciously worked to scrub away the blood on the door handle. The seat. The steering wheel.

Everywhere.

By the time he'd finished, he'd been shaking so badly he'd had to sit on the ground next to the car with his head between his knees for a good ten minutes. Once he'd recovered, he'd rushed back to the hospital.

Sam had still been asleep and Dean had collapsed into the recliner next to the bed, heart pounding. He had his car and his brother was still alive. Everything should have been perfect.

The only issue was that he needed to go back to the clinic.

He'd been hoping to find Michelle before she was discharged from the hospital, but she had already left by the time he'd gone looking for her. One of the nurses mentioned that she'd been on her way back to the clinic to collect the rest of her possessions. Dean warred with himself all morning whether it was that important for him to talk to her or if it would just make things worse. But he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that he needed to talk to her again. Nothing he could say to her would make her loss any less profound or painful, but he wanted to try.

Dean just wished he could have dealt with it before because he would have preferred to handle it without his brother around. Last thing he needed was for Michelle to say something about what he'd done. But he'd mentioned his plan to talk to Michelle and, now that Sam was discharged, he would be tagging along. Part of him hoped that Sam would fall asleep on the ride over there. Not an unlikely possibility, all things considered.

Sam had slept through much of the previous day. Off and on. In between medications and nightmares and the pain and the sickness. Last night hadn't been much better than the previous one. The fever had been high again, and neither of them had managed to catch much sleep.

Dropping the washcloth onto the counter, he stared at himself in the mirror.

Of course, even beyond the lack of sleep, taking a pile of pills and nearly dying had taken a toll on him. Which was one of the reasons he was afraid of allowing Sam near the clinic. They hadn't talked about anything yet, but Dean was sure Sam would want the details on everything that had happened while he'd been out playing Rambo in the woods with a hole in his side.

The thought of Sam finding out what he'd done was scary even though Dean figured Sam had a pretty decent clue already. He doubtless assumed Dean had done something stupid; which he had. But if Sam found out exactly what he'd done? The fact that he'd attempted suicide on the very slim chance that he could negotiate with a reaper for Sam's life was not going to go over well, Dean knew.

And Sam hadn't even been dead.

Dean still wasn't sure how to process any of it.

The realization that, while he'd been standing there chatting with Billie, his brother had been out there-alive and bleeding out on that cabin floor because Dean had _left_ him there- had horrified him. A cold ball of dread had settled in his stomach, overlaid with the pressing need to get back into his (hopefully) still living body. Because Sam needed him and he'd be damned if he was going to fail him again.

The fears had waylaid the rush of relief and joy he'd felt knowing that his brother was alive. And he really hadn't been able to take a deep breath of true relief until he'd heard Sam's voice on the phone. Seeing him towering above them in the hallway after he'd just killed Corbin had been one of the best moments of his life. Followed by yet another of the worst moments as Sam had collapsed and Dean's sluggish brain had caught on to the fact that he could _still_ lose his brother.

Shaking his head, Dean wiped his face on the dry towel and ran his hands through his hair. It didn't look great, but it was going to have to do, he decided. Stepping out from the bathroom, he found Sam sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand white-knuckling the bedrail while the other gripped his t-shirt.

Exactly where Dean had left him five minutes ago when he'd slipped in to use the bathroom and wash his face.

"You ready to let me help now?" Dean asked. He asked nicely, without a hint of mockery or teasing in his tone because he knew that Sam was still in a lot of pain, and would be for at least a week or two.

Sam looked up at him and nodded. The brief display of strength and stubbornness from moments earlier was gone and he looked bad enough that Dean was back to wondering if they should be leaving the hospital yet or not. The doctor had given them an extensive list of instructions and signed the discharge papers, but now Dean was having his doubts. Of course, Sam wasn't going to go along with staying a moment longer but maybe he didn't deserve a vote on the subject.

Dean stepped closer and held out a hand for the t-shirt. Sam didn't hand it to him, merely let go of his grip on the shirt, freeing up that hand to press against his abdomen. Dean waited for a second; still weighing his options. They weren't necessarily in a hurry anyway. Yes, Sam had been discharged, but the only thing Dean had on the agenda was getting his brother into another bed and doping him up.

The clinic visit was something he wanted to scrap and wished he'd never mentioned because now that Sam had heard about it, there would be no getting around the trip. Sam's bleeding heart was all over the idea of trying to be supportive to the grieving widow.

"Ok," Sam said softly. He kept his right hand holding onto the bed rail and reached up with his left to loosen the ties of the hospital gown.

His arms looked like pincushions, Dean thought as he eased the t-shirt over his brother's head. From the IVs to the blood draws, there were at least three places on each arm that he'd been stabbed with a needle. Losing so much blood hadn't exactly made him an easy IV stick, Dean had heard from one of the nurses.

Ignoring the still present fear, Dean waited patiently as Sam lifted one arm and then the other into the shirt. When he let go of the bed rail, he wavered a little and Dean kept one hand on his shoulder as Sam closed his eyes and fought to remain upright.

"Still with me?" he asked quietly, hand not leaving Sam's shoulder as he used his other hand to pull the t-shirt down in the back.

"Yeah." Sam nodded, gripping the bed rail again and using his free hand to smooth the t-shirt over the bulky bandages around his middle.

He forced his eyes open and looked up and Dean could see how hard he was fighting to manage the pain and not look like he was hurting as much as he was.

Sam waved a hand. "Stop staring at me. Let's get this over with and get out of here."

"Sure." Dean let go of his shoulder when he thought Sam was steady enough, then picked up the long sleeved shirt from next to him on the bed.

Getting it on was easier than the t-shirt had been because Sam didn't really have to lift his arms as much and Dean could pull it up over his shoulders without Sam needing to assist. He started to button the shirt up, but Sam batted his hand away.

"Leave it." He sounded tense and like he might not be able to continue to put on the brave front much longer.

Because he'd been shot a few days before, Dean didn't take offense at the snippy remark. He just left the shirt alone and grabbed the fresh jeans from off the foot of the bed. Everything Sam had been wearing when he'd been brought to the hospital had been a complete loss and Dean couldn't have cared less that the staff had cut it all off and thrown it away.

Personally, he never wanted to see those clothes again or deal with trying to wash the blood stains out. They'd washed plenty of blood stains out over the years, but this had been more blood than usual and it still made him sick.

"Dean?"

He blinked and looked up in confusion. "What?"

"Are you ok?"

"Fine."

Sam frowned. "You kind of zoned out. Stop thinking so much. I'm ok."

Dean couldn't help but smile. Sam couldn't get his shirt on by himself but he was ok. And, as usual, they had to be ok. And, as usual, they really _were_ ok.

Something relaxed behind his ribs and Dean nodded. "Alright, Mr. I'm-ok...how do you wanna do this?"

He held up the jeans and watched with only a hint of amusement as Sam's expression changed and he realized what Dean meant. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to help him get his pants on and, given their line of work, it probably wouldn't be the last. And Sam had done it for him on plenty of occasions so it had all sort of lost the level of embarrassment that the process had once held. Didn't mean the one needing the help didn't still dislike needing the help.

Sam sighed and shrugged, his free hand settling against his side again. Dean took it as permission and worked quickly to get Sam dressed. He helped without being asked to when Sam started to stand so he could pull the jeans up. Sam sank down just as fast after and, again, batted Dean's hands away and took care of zipping up even though his hands were shaking.

Leaving him to it, Dean moved on to getting Sam's socks and boots on, then dragged himself to his feet, feeling dizzy and tired. He grabbed the bed rail to steady himself until the black spots cleared from his vision.

"You alright?" Sam asked, voice hoarse.

"Peachy."

Sam snorted, then squeezed his eyes closed, hunching in on himself more. Dean grimaced and waited. Neither of them had really needed the doctor's long-winded speech on how bad a gut shot was and how dangerous it was and how much it _hurt_. One look at Sam at any given point in time told Dean exactly how much it hurt. So he waited for his brother to catch his breath while he caught his own. Because he really didn't feel good at all. But that was something he needed to keep Sam from latching onto because then he'd start asking questions.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam was swallowing hard and looking worse and Dean grabbed his shoulder again. "Need to lay down?"

Sam closed his eyes and barely shook his head, but Dean didn't press the issue. He started thinking that leaving the hospital now was a very bad idea. Even if the doctor had given the ok on the basis that Sam get plenty of rest and not exert himself, looking at him now, Dean wasn't sure they should be going anywhere.

"Sam?"

"I'm ok," Sam whispered, eyes still closed. "Just...it hurts. A lot. But it's ok. I'm...I just need a minute."

"You got it."

Dean wanted to sit down next to him and have a minute himself, but he was afraid to sit down lest the movement jar his brother and result in him throwing up. It looked like he was on the verge of that right now so Dean just held still and crossed his fingers. He'd been handling the anesthesia better this time around and hadn't thrown up since he'd left the recovery room thanks to plenty of good medications and a near endless supply of ice chips.

After another few seconds, Sam straightened and said, "Let's get out of here."

"Works for me." Dean left him there and grabbed the pile of paperwork, prescriptions and shoved them into Sam's backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he prepared for the argument he knew was coming when he went to tell Sam to get into the wheelchair because he wasn't walking out of the hospital.

But Sam was looking at the wheelchair with such longing that Dean realized he wasn't going to argue about it.

Dean pulled it closer and reached down to help Sam stand up and hobble two steps over until he could sit back down. The effort left Sam breathless with pain and even paler, but he was ok, Dean kept telling himself. He'd been up and walking a few times yesterday and had taken a lap around the nurses station earlier.

Once Sam looked as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, Dean took another glance around the room to be sure he hadn't missed anything, then told Sam he was going to start moving, waited till Sam nodded in agreement, then pushed the wheelchair to the door.

to be continued...

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed the chapter! More to come...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi! Hope you're all doing well! Thank you for all your review! Thanks to gr8read...I can't personally reply to you but I want you to know I appreciate your notes! :)**

 **I had a blast at the writing conference last weekend! Learned a lot about writing compelling characters. I just started an online class this week as well so I'm throwing myself head over heels into learning more about writing! Also planning to do Camp NaNoWriMo in July...so I'm betting I'm going to have enough stuff written to get to 2018! :D Right now I already have 2 completed stories lined up to start posting once this one is done. :)**

 **For now, though, let's get back to the boys and see how their trip to the clinic is going. This is where my story slots back into the episode. It was a challenge to write a realistic version of what would have happened in real life and then make it fit neatly back in canon. Hopefully you'll think I pulled it off! This chapter gets through the last scenes of the episode and then the rest of the story going forward is all brand new content of the boys' recovery. :) Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4**_

Sam sank into the familiar seat with a barely contained groan of appreciation. He knew he wasn't succeeding at hiding how bad he was feeling from his brother, so it didn't seem like a big of a deal to let a little vulnerability show. Because he was hurting. A lot. And he wanted to be sleeping in a comfy bed, preferably his own, and taking every pill that Dean offered him.

He really didn't want to be going back to the clinic.

Hands still pressed against his middle, Sam watched Dean hurry around to the driver's side of the car. It was a minor miracle his brother hadn't vetoed his decision to come along with him to the clinic. Dean wasn't happy about it, that was obvious, but maybe they _both_ were a little wary of allowing the other out of their sight right now. He knew that his experience didn't hold a candle to what Dean had gone through thinking he was dead and _he_ didn't even like the thought of his brother not being close.

Sam looked over as Dean slid behind the wheel. He almost asked Dean what had happened while he'd been out in the woods but Dean was starting up the car and looking at him with a concerned expression and Sam decided to keep his mouth shut about it.

Instead, he smiled and said, "Let's go."

Dean nodded, his mouth set in a firm line and his fingers cramping around the wheel. He eased the car onto the road and Sam tried not to cringe too visibly as they went over the bumpy pavement. If Dean noticed, he didn't say anything, but Sam could tell from the way he was driving that he was well aware any bumps or sudden stops would cause pain.

Sam took a careful breath and watched the road ahead. The trip back to the clinic was completely silent as they both lost themselves in their thoughts. Sam wasn't sure why he felt so compelled to go with Dean to the clinic. He could appreciate Dean's need to see Michelle again and make sure she was going to be alright. This sort of thing was never easy for his brother and Sam was proud of his brother for taking the initiative to follow-up with the victim.

But there really was no reason for Sam to go with him.

If it hadn't been for the childish fear of letting Dean out of his sight, Sam would have gladly agreed with Dean's initial plan of dropping him off at a motel first. It was stupid of course, and Sam knew nothing else was likely to happen to either of them now. The danger had passed and they were going to be fine. Nonetheless, he knew Dean wasn't fine yet and Sam told himself his reason for coming along was to reassure Dean. Not the other way around.

It sounded better that way.

By the time the clinic appeared ahead, the painkillers had kicked in from the last dose he'd received prior to leaving the hospital. He didn't feel great, but he felt good enough that he knew he could get out of the car and into the clinic without falling on his face. Dean had been growing tenser the closer they got to the clinic and, as he backed the Impala up to the front door, all the better for a quick departure, Sam hoped this had been the right decision.

Dean turned the car off and Sam reached for the door handle. He froze at Dean's soft, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't need to come in." Dean wasn't looking at him.

"I know. It's ok. Let's do this."

Dean sighed, but said no more. They both got out of the car and Dean was standing at his side, worried expression in place, as Sam attempted to get out of the car without showing how sore he was. He didn't count the groan against himself. Dean didn't say anything, didn't offer him a hand, but closed the car door behind him as he moved away.

He followed Dean into the building and then they surveyed the waiting room. The area was deserted and Sam hadn't seen any police tape outside so the crime scene must have been cleared up by now. For a moment, they paused and looked around the room. No sign of Michelle.

"I'll go to the back. Look for her." Dean waved a distracted hand. "Why don't you sit down and wait?"

Sam opened his mouth to say he would come along, but something in Dean's eyes told him maybe Dean needed him to stay here. So he nodded and said, "Ok. Just let me know if you need anything."

"Got any beer?" Dean attempted a smile, but it looked sickly and pathetic.

Sam smiled anyway and said, "We can pick up a six-pack when we leave."

Dean nodded. He waited until Sam sat down, then wandered away. Sam's smile faded as Dean disappeared around a corner. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to convince himself he was feeling better. The painkillers were helping. The medications for the nausea were helping. He'd managed to eat a bowl of soup and a piece of toast before they'd left the hospital. It would take time. A few days to get back on his feet.

Staring at the opposite wall, Sam couldn't quite find it in himself to wish he'd never suggested this hunt. Because they'd saved Michelle. And who knew how many other innocent victims who might have ventured into the woods in the future only to become prisoners of the werewolf pack.

So he couldn't regret coming. He did regret not moving fast enough to avoid getting shot, though. And he regretted what the hunt had done to Dean.

He hadn't been dead, but that didn't mean that Dean hadn't _thought_ he was dead.

Sam rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He might be the one with fresh stitches, but he wasn't the only one who needed to be put back together.

* * *

A chill run through him as Dean walked to the back of the clinic. The entire place gave him the creeps. He didn't like leaving Sam out front, but it was the compromise they both could work with since Sam didn't want to let him do this on his own. And Dean couldn't deny that he didn't feel a little better knowing Sam was close. Of course, he'd feel better if Sam were settled in a bed right now, but that would come soon enough.

He just needed to see Michelle first.

She'd helped him. Trusted him even when he'd acted completely insane. She had been tearful and terrified from the moment he'd first seen her, but Michelle had been stronger than she looked. He didn't know what she thought deep down about his insane attempt to take his own life.

He wasn't calling it suicide. Because it wasn't. Not really. He'd done it so he could talk to Billie. That was all. Not because he wanted to end his life. Not because he'd been so afraid of living life without Sam. Not because he'd failed his brother. Again. Nope. He hadn't taken those pills for any of those reasons.

"Dean?"

A quiet voice alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone in the hallway. He shook himself free from his thoughts and saw Michelle sitting against the wall. She looked pale, tired, and tearful. But she was staring at him with concern, too.

He forced a smile he didn't feel at all, walked over and said, "Hey."

"Hey."

"How you doin'?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she remained silent. After a few seconds, she asked, "How's your brother?"

"The doc says that, um...well, when Corbin choked him, um, Sam's body went into shock and his breathing, his heartbeat slowed down to almost nothing." Dean didn't know why he was blabbing all of this. He should've just said _he's fine._ But now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. "So he was, uh...he was just mostly dead. But he'll be ok."

"Must be nice." There was no disguising the bitterness in her tone. As if catching herself, she said immediately, "That wasn't….Corbin wasn't a killer."

"I know."

"He did it for me."

"Michelle, this is gonna be very hard." Dean tried to find a way to be encouraging in the face of complete despair. "But you will be ok. And, eventually, eventually you'll get back to normal."

Michelle sighed. "No I won't."

And Dean knew she was right. He tried to come up with something else to say, something that would help her but she smiled at him, then looked away and said, "They said I could leave. An hour ago. But where am I even supposed to go? After everything we survived together-"

Dean felt his heart tighten in his chest as she looked back at him, tears on her cheeks.

"I watched the man I love die. There's no normal after that."

And Dean couldn't disagree with her. They both turned to stare straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts and their own pain. He thought about what she'd said. And he thought about Cold Oak. Didn't matter how long it had been. Didn't matter how many times he'd had to witness Sam's death, that first time in the mud in Cold Oak would always be the one that stood out to him.

Not that seeing Sam jump into the pit with Lucifer and Michael in tow hadn't shattered his world. But Sam had chosen that. Had done it to save the world.

Cold Oak had not been his choice.

Cold Oak had been murder.

A monster - and yes, there was a part of Dean that knew Jake hadn't truly been a monster, just another victim of Azazel's evil schemes-had murdered his little brother in front of his very eyes. It was the first time he'd failed Sam on that level. And there was no going back to normal. Even now, years later, their lives were so far from the definition of normal that Dean didn't even know what normal meant anymore.

He sat there with Michelle for several minutes knowing there was nothing he could say to her that would help. Because nothing Bobby had tried to say to him all those years ago had helped. She would either get past this or she would not get past it. Dean had a feeling she would be ok because she had strength that might not appear on the surface, but ran strongly beneath.

"Thank you." Michelle's voice was soft. "For helping us. I'm...I'm sorry about what happened to your brother."

"I'm sorry about what happened to Corbin." Dean met her eyes again.

She offered a tremulous smile and said, "I'm going to stay here a little longer. I just need a few more moments to...to process."

Dean nodded. "Ok."

He hesitated because part of him didn't want to leave her alone in this cold hallway mourning her husband who had been turned into a monster. But there was the other part of him that wanted to be on the road with Sam so badly he was surprised he wasn't shaking with the need to run.

"Go take care of your brother," Michelle said, a cold hand squeezing his.

He nodded, but couldn't find anything else to say. So he just squeezed her hand briefly, then turned and hurried back to the front of the building. Heart pounding, he rounded the corner and took a breath of relief when he saw Sam still sitting where he'd left him.

"You ok?" Sam called out as Dean walked closer.

"Yeah. Let's get outta here."

Sam nodded, shifting and pushing himself to his feet. Dean grabbed his arm when he wavered and Sam didn't fight him off which was both a surprise and a concern. By the time they reached the front doors, though, Sam had pulled away and was moving independently and relatively easily. It made Dean feel a little better.

It made him feel a little giddy.

So if he said some inane, utterly stupid crap as they walked out of the building, making light of stitches and blood transfusions and downplaying everything that had happened, he decided he could be forgiven. Sam humored him, probably sensing he didn't want to talk about what he'd just gone through with Michelle. Which he didn't. Memories of Cold Oak were too close to the surface, so when Sam asked him what he'd done when he thought he'd been dead, Dean kept his response lighthearted and teasing.

But, as he started up the Impala to get them away from the clinic and the horrific memories of what had happened, Dean knew he wasn't fooling his brother. At all. Sam didn't know what he'd done. And if Dean could manage it, he never would. But Sam knew he'd done _something._ And that was a concern because Sam wouldn't let it rest if he thought Dean had done something stupid. Which, of course, he had.

Dean would just have to be ready with a better excuse when Sam decided to reopen the issue.

* * *

Conversation died off fast as they pulled out of the driveway. Sam kept his eyes on the road ahead, his arm casually braced against his side.

Dean was lying to him.

Again.

And it kind of stung because he thought they were past that. Thought things were better.

Who was he kidding? Things _were_ better. They were. Just because Dean was lying to him now, about this, didn't mean that things were going south. It just meant that Dean had done something stupid and didn't want to share with the class.

Having done plenty of stupid stuff himself, Sam could relate. So he set the matter aside for now. Maybe forever, in fact. He could easily put himself in Dean's shoes and envision his own response to the situation Dean had found himself in. It was doubtful Dean had considered a demon deal; if there was one lesson they both had learned over the years it was to stay away from the crossroads.

He stole a quick peek at his brother, saw the strain and the tension in his posture, the hard lines of his face. Sam realized it was possible Dean _hadn't_ done anything at all. From the brief synopsis Dean had given him earlier, it sounded like he'd been kept pretty busy trying to take care of the victims. Looking away again, Sam decided there was a chance that Dean's flippant answer was a cover for the fact that he'd truly believed Sam had died.

The doctor had told them what had likely happened after Corbin had attempted to smother him. The memory sent shivers down his spine even now, but he forced himself to bury the feeling of panic, and focus instead on the facts. It had been a fluke, the doctor said. Nothing that anyone could have predicted.

 _Winchester luck strikes again,_ Sam thought to himself.

The road began to blur and he was glad he didn't have to drive this time around. The trip from the woods to the clinic had been a nightmare. He knew he was lucky he hadn't wound up in a ditch or smashed into oncoming traffic.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, relishing the sense of peace that came over him as they drove away from the clinic. They were _both_ safe.

"Sam?"

"Hm?" he mumbled, forcing his eyes open.

"We're here."

The car wasn't running and Sam opened his eyes to the sight of a hotel in front of the car. A nice hotel. Not a five star resort, but, compared to the dives they usually frequented, it might as well have been the Ritz. He blinked, trying to bring it into better focus, trying to remember what had happened.

"I think you fell asleep," Dean said, shifting around in the seat. "Or you just zoned out. Either way, you've been out of it for over an hour."

Sam turned to look at him. It didn't feel like it had been that long.

Dean smiled, but it looked like a strain.

"I just wanted to get a bit further away from that town. You know? Just needed to-" he broke off for a shaky breath before continuing, "get out of there. Didn't dare go too far though, you're not looking so great. Got to the next town on the map. Don't even remember the name. Gonna hole up here tonight. See how you feel in the morning."  
His words were rambling, rushed. Sam knew how worried Dean was by the tone of his voice and the fact they were parked in front of a _nice_ hotel.

He shook his head. "I'm ok to drive further, Dean. Seriously. We don't have to stop yet."

"We're stopping." And there was no arguing with Dean. Because he was shoving his door open and getting out and looking stressed and vaguely angry.

So Sam didn't bother trying to argue. He pushed his own door open a bit more slowly and decided stopping for the night sounded like a great idea. The pain wasn't out of control. Yet.

But it was getting close.

He dragged himself upright and didn't think he'd taken too long to do so. But then he saw Dean standing there next to him, their gear in his hands, waiting. Keeping one hand pressed to his side, Sam nodded to let his brother know he was ready to move. He knew better than to offer to take any of the gear from Dean. Not that he felt up to carrying it anyway.

Following Dean into the building, Sam debated sitting down on one of the comfy looking couches in the lobby. Sitting down sounded wonderful. Of course, if he sat down, he would have to stand up again and that was where he wound up hesitating.

Because he hadn't enjoyed trying to stand up after sitting in the car for the relatively short trip here. If he sat down now, he might wind up sleeping on the couch in the lobby. He didn't want to do that because he had high hopes that the bed might be pretty great in a place like this and he wanted to find out exactly how great it was.

"Sam?"

He turned at the sound of Dean's voice and asked, "Yeah?"

"Ready?" Dean held up the key card.

"Ready." Sam nodded and followed Dean toward the elevators.

"Didn't get the room by the pool," Dean said as he used the end of his duffle bag to hit the up arrow on the elevator. "Decided you probably aren't gonna be swimming for awhile."

Not that they usually bothered to try out the swimming facilities. Sam just smiled and rolled his eyes. Dean grinned then waved him on ahead into the elevator. The grin faded by the time they reached the correct floor. Sam knew his brother was as tired as he was.

Already, he was losing whatever energy his own second wind had offered him. He fell behind as Dean hurried down the hallway. Letting Dean go on ahead, Sam put one hand to the wall, kept the other on his side and gave up trying to hide how much walking hurt. How much breathing hurt.

How much _everything_ hurt.

"Almost there." Dean was suddenly next to him again, a hand at his elbow.

Sam looked up and realized Dean must have made it to the room already because all of their gear was gone. Which meant he was moving _really_ slowly. The hallway started to tilt oddly to the right and his vision tunneled and Sam managed to say Dean's name in time to alert his brother to what was happening.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders as he said, "Easy. Hang on. Almost there. Doin' great."

Sam didn't feel like he was doing great and it didn't sound like Dean was either if the way he was huffing and puffing was anything to go by. Ignoring everything except the act of putting one foot in front of the other, Sam managed to zone out enough that he found himself in the hotel room without knowing how he'd gotten there.

"Ok. Here you go. Just…sit down for a second, ok?" Dean was guiding him to the edge of the bed and Sam wanted to fall over backwards into the soft mattress, but Dean wouldn't let him. "Don't lay down. Not yet."

The illusion he'd fought to present to his brother upon leaving the hospital, getting to the clinic, and walking out of the clinic went up in smoke. Sam wrapped both arms around his middle and groaned.

"I know, man, I know," Dean muttered, squeezing his shoulder before he moved away.

Sam could hear him rummaging through their gear although he kept his eyes closed instead of trying to figure out what he was doing. And then Dean was next to him again and Sam forced his eyes open. Dean tugged at one of his hands and pushed something into it. Sam looked down and realized it was a liquidy cup of blue jello. His hand was shaking as he looked up at his brother questioningly.

"I kept it. From the hospital this morning," Dean explained, brandishing a plastic fork. "You gotta eat something then you can have the pills. Ok? Then you can lay down and go to sleep. But you can't take all this crap on an empty stomach."

He was right. Sam knew he was. But Dean being right didn't exactly make the watery jello look more appetizing. He didn't want it but he reached out with his other hand for the fork. Staring at the utensil, Sam almost commented on it, but just didn't have the energy. He forced himself to eat the jello. Because he wanted the pills and he wanted to lay down and he wanted to sleep until his body didn't hurt.

"Take it easy, will you? Not a race." Dean had a hand on his wrist and Sam forced himself to slow down.

Once the little cup was empty, a handful of pills appeared and Sam threw them all back with a drink of water from a half empty, very lukewarm bottle that may or may not have been kicking around under the front seat for the past two weeks.

Mission accomplished, he started to turn toward the pillow only to find Dean's hands on his shoulders again, holding him still. He was too tired by now to put up any kind of resistance. So he let Dean pull his coat and long-sleeved shirt off. Then he wrapped his arms around himself again as Dean worked on his boots.

"You want-" Dean started to say, waving a hand at his jeans.

Sam just groaned and shook his head. He wanted to lay down. That was literally all he wanted. He didn't have the energy or patience to go through the ordeal of changing out of his jeans. Dean didn't say anything else, but helped him ease back against the pillows. Sam closed his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It was a really great pillow and the bed was pretty great too. He wasn't quite comfortable, but given he had a hole in his gut, he didn't expect to be completely comfortable anytime soon. Waiting for a blanket to magically appear over him, Sam was somewhat disappointed to feel Dean pushing his hands aside and lifting his t-shirt.

Dean was talking to him, telling him he just needed to make sure the stitches were intact. But the words were getting distorted and Sam wasn't really interested in sorting them all out into things that made sense. He just allowed Dean to do whatever he wanted and then, when Dean told him to get some sleep, Sam did.

* * *

Dean hadn't intended to fall asleep.

It had been ten till three when they'd walked into the room and he'd planned to unpack a little. Maybe eat something. Keep an eye on his brother. But instead Dean fell asleep in one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs at the table.

When he woke up, his face was pressed against the zipper on one of the bags and every part of his entire body was sore. He also felt more than a little nauseated. Forcing himself upright, the room spun a bit and he decided priority number two was getting something to drink.

Priority number one was checking on Sam.

The overhead light was still on, but had clearly not disturbed their sleep. Sam was where he'd left him. To all appearances soundly and deeply asleep. Dean glanced with bleary eyes at his watch. Scrubbing at his eyes, he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the bathroom. There were little plastic complimentary cups on the counter and he dropped the first two on the floor as he wrestled with the plastic overwrap.

He didn't bother to pick them up. For one thing, he was unsteady enough that leaning down would probably land him on the floor next to the cups. For another, nice hotel or not, he didn't trust anything that came off a bathroom floor. Any bathroom floor.

Ever.

Filling one of the two remaining cups with water, he downed it in one gulp. Dean stood there, leaning against the counter and refilling the cup about five more times before feeling like his thirst had been quenched.

"Way to be big spenders on the cups," he muttered after drinking the last mouthful and staring at the small cup.

He set it down on the counter and filled up the other cup then made his way back into the room. Walking around the bed, he set the cup on the night stand and studied his brother. Sam's breathing was even and deep and he didn't look restless or particularly uncomfortable, although he'd lost the blissful look of complete drugged up unconsciousness from earlier. There was a hint of tension in his features now. Judging by the flush on his pale cheeks, the fever Dean hadn't even pretended wouldn't make a reappearance seemed to be back.

Sorting through the time, sorting through the meds, he knew it wasn't quite time for the next dose of the antibiotic. Close to the time for the next pain killer. Deciding to split the difference, he didn't interrupt what sleep Sam was able to get. At the midway point between antibiotic and pain killer, he'd wake him up and try to get him to eat something.

Eat something.

That could be a problem, Dean realized, glancing around the room. They didn't really have a bag stocked with groceries. He slumped down at the table again and looked over the delivery menus. Nothing that tempted his uneasy stomach and nothing that looked like good prospects for someone who had just been shot.

Dropping the menus, Dean leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands.

They needed to eat. Both of them did. He just didn't feel like eating or going anywhere or doing anything. There was no way to know how much of what he was feeling was from how poorly he'd been eating the past few days and how much was from the drugs he'd taken. Either way, he felt like hell and wanted to crawl into bed and never get out again.

But he couldn't do that, so he pulled out his phone to see if there was some kind of grocery store nearby. There were two. Setting the phone aside, Dean leaned back in the chair and glanced at his brother again.

There was no way he was leaving while Sam wasn't even awake. He couldn't trust that he would sleep until he returned. If Sam woke up and he wasn't there, it might be just fine. He could leave a note. Or it might not be just fine and he wouldn't take that chance. So Dean opted to take a quick shower and see if that would revive him a bit more. He flipped off the overhead lights and turned on a smaller lamp next to the couch.

It didn't look lumpy or filthy and Dean imagined how nice it would be to settle down on it and watch some TV later. He didn't want to or plan to stay for more than a night or two but he was prepared to stay two weeks if necessary. It all depended on how Sam felt and what he wanted to do. Dean absolutely hated that they were twenty-some hours from home. It was a trip they weren't going to make all at once no matter how much Sam was going to protest.

Dean dragged his dirty, sweaty clothes off and left them in a heap next to the plastic cups. Maybe he'd pick them up later or maybe he'd just leave them there. He stopped worrying about the laundry when he stepped under the stream of hot water. Taking a moment to just stand there and appreciate the water pressure (not quite as good as at home) and the heat (not quite as hot as at home), he let his mind go blank.

By the time he'd decided to actually scrub himself clean and not just stand there all night, the water _still_ hadn't cooled off and it was the best thing of the entire day. Well, other than Sam being alive of course.

And, just like that, his mind wasn't blank anymore. It was filled with _should haves_ and _what ifs_ and _what nows._ By the time he'd dried off, the headache he'd been ignoring was three times as bad. He wrapped the towel around himself and headed straight for the Tylenol before bothering to look for clean clothes.

Dry swallowing the tablets, Dean leaned heavily against the table, fighting down the nausea. Once the worst of it had passed, he turned and checked on his brother. Nothing much had changed except he'd shifted position slightly. So Dean grabbed his clothes, headed back for the bathroom and got dressed, attempting to tame his hair enough to be presentable for the soup aisle.

Mentally making a shopping list, Dean was still messing with his hair when he heard his name called from the other room. There was no panic or fear in Sam's tone, which was a relief.

"Right here," Dean said, stepping out of the bathroom. Sam tilted his head a bit more until he could see him and Dean decided now was close enough to time for the pain killers. He paused beside the bed and asked, "How're you doing? You got a few hours of sleep anyway."

"It's not morning?"

There was a distinct note of desperation in his tone and Dean could relate. For whatever reason, with injuries or illnesses, the night always was the worst. Maybe it was because you couldn't sleep. Couldn't get comfortable, couldn't be at peace.

During the day, you were supposed to be awake so however miserable you were was just icing on the cake, but at night...at night you were supposed to sleep. He had a feeling neither of them were going to sleep well for several more nights to come.

Dean shook his head, checking his watch. "Not morning yet, sorry. It's going on seven."

Sam nodded and started messing with the covers.

Dean stepped closer and asked, "What're you doing?"

Waving a hand, Sam mumbled, "Bathroom."

"Alright, alright. Let me help. Slow down before you hurt yourself."

Sam stopped moving and took a few careful breaths, his hand pressing against the wound as Dean pulled back the blanket. He didn't fight when Dean did most of the work to get him upright and Dean didn't crack any jokes when Sam made a sound that might have been a whimper if not for the fact that they were grown men and most definitely did not whimper. Hands on his shoulders, Dean looked down, waiting for any sign that Sam was recovered enough to make another move.

"I'm ok." Sam's whisper wasn't believable, and Dean knew he'd meant it simply to indicate he was ready to get up.

Dean pulled him as gently as possible to his feet and held on until Sam stopped looking like he was going to keel over. They were one step from the bathroom before Sam pulled away. Dean let him go and didn't hover. Sam closed the door and Dean headed back for the table to sort out the pills. It took him longer than it should have and he added coffee to his shopping list. By the time he had a small army of pills lined up neatly on the table, Sam was opening the door again.

Turning, Dean found him with one hand braced on the door jamb and one pressed to his side as he looked around the room.

Catching Dean's eye, Sam said, "Nice place."

"The cups suck."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "The two on the floor personally offend you?"

 _Of course he'd notice the cups._ Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't intend to tell Sam how much difficulty he'd experienced simply trying to get a plastic cup out of a wrapper. Trying to decide what to do next, Dean had trouble prioritizing _food, pills, he needs to lay down, hydration, check the bandage, pay for another night-_

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

Sam smiled a little. "You're thinking too much. I can see you doing that thing-"

"What thing?"

"That list thing."

"What list thing?"

"Where you make lists in your head."

"I don't make lists."

"Yeah. You do."

"I do not."

"Do."

"Sam-"

"So you weren't trying to figure out what you were going to boss me into first?" Sam grinned. "Pills, food, water? Tucking me up in bed for the week? That's not what you were just thinking?"

Dean tried not to look stunned. But he probably did. His brain was too slow to even attempt to come up with a response. Sam saved him the trouble when he waved a hand.

"How 'bout you start by getting me to the couch?"

"Try the bed." Dean crossed the room, glad for something to do. Glad that his brother was not being stupidly stubborn.

"Couch." Sam shook his head, being stupidly stubborn.

"Sam."

"You're going for food, right? I'm not going to sleep till you get back. I need a minute to sit."

Dean sighed, but didn't argue. He just let Sam grab his arm when he reached out and then guided him the few steps to the couch. Sam sank into it like he'd fallen into a cloud and Dean would have teased him about the happy sigh and expression of bliss if he didn't have a hole in his gut. A stitched up hole, sure, but still. Dean had a feeling Sam was going to get a lot of passes in the near future.

Because _hole in gut._

"Not the first time, you know." Sam's mumbled statement drew Dean out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"Not the first time." Sam shook his head against the back of the couch, his free hand reaching out and fumbling for a pillow. Slowly dragging it closer, he pressed it against his stomach and hugged it to himself as he added, "It's not the first time. I have been shot before."

"Yeah. You've also been to hell before. Doesn't mean I gotta like it," Dean said irritably. "You want your feet up on a chair?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't exactly like it either, you know. I'm just saying."

"Saying what?"

"You don't have to baby me, dude." Sam smiled. "And you don't have to worry about this so much. It sucks, but it's not that big a deal."

Dean felt anger spike behind his sternum. "It is a big deal. I don't care how weird our lives are. I don't care that we've fought monsters and demons and angels and any of that crap. It is a big deal. Because you could have _died."_

He purposely didn't say _I could have lost you! Again!_ But he knew Sam heard the unspoken words.

"But I didn't." Sam was staring him down. Feverish, in pain, and exhausted, he wasn't letting this go.

"You think you can take the pills or you want to wait till I get something for you to eat?" Dean asked, turning his back and changing the topic. He headed to the table for his phone and keys. "I was gonna get soup we can shove in the microwave. Anything else sound good?"

Sam's soft laugh helped relieve some of the pain in his chest and diffuse a bit of the anger. Dean still didn't turn around yet but pretended to be fiddling with something important in the gear as Sam spoke up, "Soup shoved in the microwave. Way to make it sound appetizing."

"Well I don't exactly have a pan do I?" Dean snapped, head pounding and stomach turning.

"Dean."

"What?"

"I can wait till you get back for the meds. Microwave soup is great. Maybe some crackers. Nothing exactly sounds good right now, so just grab the usual _my-brother-got-shot_ menu."

Dean felt a smile tug at his lips at the humor in Sam's tone. He let go of the anger for the time being and turned around, allowing the smile develop into a smirk. "It's disturbing that we have menus like that."

"It's disturbing that we _know_ what's on the menu like that," Sam said, smiling too. "Just give me the remote so I can watch something stupid and mind-numbing while you're gone."

Crossing the room, Dean handed him the remote, then dropped Sam's phone next to him on the couch. "You think of anything else tasty you don't want to eat, let me know."

Sam laughed, hugging the pillow tighter to his middle with his left hand while flipping the television on with his other. Dean stared at him for a moment longer.

Sam looked up and said, "I'm good, Dean. I swear."

Nodding, Dean said, "Find some reruns of M.A.S.H. I'll be back soon."

"I'll be here." Sam started flipping through the channels.

 _You better be,_ Dean thought to himself as he closed the hotel room door behind him.

 _ **to be continued...**_

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! So sorry for not getting this chapter posted last Friday as per my "routine." Had a rough week or so and just couldn't quite get my ducks in a row to finish the chapter and get it posted. So sorry. If it's any consolation, I wrote more to this chapter and to the chapter 6 so you will have much more to read! :)**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 5_**

Popsicles.

Sam wanted popsicles. They were the _only_ thing he wanted, in fact. Soup was probably a good idea, but the way his stomach was twisting, the thought of a popsicle sounded even better. He stared through the tv and thought about texting Dean. He thought about it for a full ten minutes, then decided he'd better hurry up and let his brother know or Dean would be back before he could request the popsicles.

So he fumbled with the phone. Settling his left arm over the pillow pressed to his stomach, Sam tried to text his brother. His hands were shakier than he'd realized, but finally he sent the one word text. _Popsicles?_ It took ten seconds before his phone lit up with a received message and Sam smiled as he read his brother's text.

 _Already in the basket. Anything else? U ok?_

Sam texted he was fine and couldn't think of anything else.

 _Stay put back in twenty_ was Dean's reply and Sam felt better knowing Dean was on his way back.

He let the phone drop to the couch next to him and tried to shift position just a pinch. Holding the pillow close alleviated some of the pain, but not all. Like he'd told his brother, it wasn't the first time he'd been shot, but that didn't make it hurt any less. It didn't make him _immune._

Allowing himself a quick moment to groan without an overstressed, overprotective audience, Sam finished making the move he'd wanted to make, then sank into the cushions, panting at the sharp pull in his side. He squeezed the pillow closer until some of the shooting pain began to fade and he could breathe again. The new position wasn't any better than the last position had been, but he knew this was where he was staying until he got something strong for the pain.

Commercials distracted him for awhile, then he checked the phone again. Hadn't even been five minutes. Sam looked across the room at the table and tried to convince himself that taking the trip over there to get the pain killers would be worth it. Another five minutes passed and he still hadn't convinced himself. He should have taken them when Dean had offered. Five more minutes and he shoved the pillow aside, feeling like he was suffocating. His hand came to rest over the bulky bandages at his side and Sam looked down.

He tried to remember how often the doctor had told him he should change the bandages. Of course, Dean had paid excruciatingly close attention to the doctor's every word, so Sam didn't need to worry about it. He ran his fingers around the edges of the bandaging under his t-shirt and swallowed hard against the pain and the memories.

There probably had been nothing they could have done to prevent what happened, but it didn't mean he had to like it. He'd made a newlywed woman a widow on her honeymoon. Yes, Corbin had been turned long before they'd arrived to rescue them, but maybe...maybe there would have been a way they could have saved him-

Sam shook his head. It felt heavy and filled with disconnected thoughts and fog.

He'd been sensitive to werewolf cases for awhile after Madison, and although he'd always regret how it had turned out, time had given him a little perspective he hadn't possessed when he'd had to shoot a beautiful woman he had truly cared about.

They'd hunted plenty of werewolves since then and it had all become routine. Find a monster. Kill a monster. Simple as that.

Except it wasn't simple.

It was never simple and, listening to Michelle scream and then sob, Sam had felt the same weight on his shoulders he'd felt when he'd killed Madison. The perspective came sooner and easier than it had all those years ago, but perspective didn't make him feel any better about what he'd done. It just made him realize he'd done what needed to be done as difficult as it had been.

Of course, one aspect had been very simple.

Monster attempting to kill brother.

Simple.

He felt his stomach turn at the memory of coming into the clinic and rounding a corner to come across that scene. For a split second, as he'd tightened his finger around the trigger, he'd thought he was too late. His vision had been hazy and blurry for the entire trip to the clinic and he hadn't been able to get a good view of his brother from behind Corbin. He'd fired the gun hoping with everything he had left he was wrong and his brother was still alive.

In that split second, though, Sam had decided he would be ok with bleeding out on the cold tile floor and dying right then with his brother if Dean was dead. Whatever "the empty" might hold for them, he figured it couldn't be any emptier than a life without his brother.

But then Dean was moving and making a wisecrack to disguise his concern and Sam had started breathing again even as his legs went out from under him and he hit the floor in a move that jarred his spine all the way up to his head. Dean had been there to catch him when he'd fallen over and had taken care of everything from that moment forward.

His head was a little clearer now and Sam began to feel the weight of how close it had been and how grateful, how _relieved,_ he was that Dean was alive.

It hadn't been the first time they'd come close to losing each other, but, just like bullet wounds, watching your brother almost die (or _actually_ die) wasn't something you got used to. They'd both done it too many times and Sam knew he couldn't handle it again.

"Sammy?"

Dean's voice startled him and his breath caught painfully. Breathing through it, Sam met his brother's gaze, wondering how in the world he hadn't heard Dean's return. Dean had a hand on his shoulder and Sam blinked, feeling tears on his face. He lifted his head a little more.

"Hey, what is it? Man, you should've taken the pills-" Dean's voice was strained; his eyes wide and concerned.

Trying for a smile, Sam said, "It's ok. Not that bad."

"Dude. You were crying." The concern had not faded in Dean's eyes although he was trying to make light of the situation. "Unless you were sittin' here watching some sappy, crappy Nicholas Sparks movie, you were, _are,_ in pain."

"How do you know about Nicholas Sparks?" Sam asked, genuinely curious. And amused. Very amused. He brushed a hand over his face to get rid of the tears and enjoyed the red creeping up his brother's pale face. "I didn't think you did chick flicks?"

"I don't." Dean shook his head, rocking back on his heels. A smirk lit his face, momentarily mitigating the exhaustion. "But I _do_ chicks."

Sam laughed even though it hurt. He rolled his eyes. "You are so gross."

"And you are so busted." A pill bottle was shaken in front of his eyes, then Dean twisted the lid off. "I'm just gonna rate your pain myself since I know you won't give me a straight answer. I'm goin' with a nine."

"Nine?" Sam asked, accepting the pills that Dean dropped into his right hand.

"Yeah. Nine. Cuz you were freakin' crying, Sam. I walk in and about have a heart attack. Crying rates at a nine."

Not bothering to tell his brother that he hadn't been crying because of physical pain, Sam swallowed the pills down with a sip of water from the cup Dean offered, then asked, "What's a ten?"

"Hell."

There was a haunted look in Dean's eyes now and Sam just nodded.

Dean stared at him for a moment, then took a shaky breath. He pushed himself to his feet and Sam saw pain flicker across his face as he did so. Remembering the stiff way his brother had been moving of late, Sam asked, "What's wrong with your side?"

"Busted ribs," Dean answered succinctly, making a distinct effort to straighten. He grimaced, then waved a hand. "Just sore."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Werewolves aren't exactly gentle."

"Tell me about it."

Dean smiled briefly.

"You take anything-"

"Yeah," Dean interrupted, changing the subject. "You want a popsicle while I put the groceries away?"

Frowning, Sam let his eyes wander to the table where a small pile of plastic bags was settled. "What did you do? Buy out the store?"

"Yes. I did. I bought the store with all the cash I have on hand from all the people who pay us for our work." There was a hint of bitterness in his tone, but only a hint.

Dean headed for the table, rifled through the bags for a second, then came back across the room while ripping into a box of popsicles. Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean that there was a convenient pull tab...and then decided not to bother since his brother had just ripped the box in half.

Apparently Dean was a little stressed.

Sam didn't comment on the destruction of the box.

Dean fiddled with the contents and asked, "What flavor? And yes, I know not orange."

"Purple. Or red. I don't care."

"Purple or red?" Dean rolled his eyes, handing him a popsicle. "Try grape. Or cherry. Geeze,

are you five?"

Sam didn't bother to answer because he was busy trying to get the stupid purple - _grape -_ popsicle out of the wrapping. By the time he finally had it out of the wrapping, he was worn out and wishing he was in bed. It must have shown on his face because Dean was studying him closely.

"Just see how it settles. If you think you can tolerate it, we'll try some soup," Dean said as he crossed the room. "Then you can go lay down. Ok? The meds'll kick in and you can sleep."

Hoping his brother's pronouncement was right, Sam ate the popsicle and watched Dean shove the box into the tiny freezer. For the next few minutes, he puttered around in the little kitchenette, opening the bags and shuffling his purchases around on the table. Sam couldn't tell what all he'd bought, but it looked like he'd stocked up on just about everything.

Knowing his brother, there was probably a thermometer in one of those bags.

"Shit," Dean muttered under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

Dean turned around, aggravation written all over his pale face. He held something up and said, "I should've checked your temperature before you started eating that popsicle."

 _How well I know you!_ Sam wanted to laugh. But he didn't because, staring down at the thermometer, Dean looked too upset to be teased.

"It's ok. We can check it another time." Sam hoped he was being reassuring. He stared down at the half eaten popsicle, tucked the wrapper around it and held it out. "Can you take this?"

Dean set the thermometer on the table and walked over. Taking the popsicle, Dean stared at him. Assessing.

"Save it for later?" Sam prompted.

"Sure. Soup?"

Considering he'd only been able to tolerate half of the popsicle, Sam doubted the soup was going to be any better, but he waved his fingers half-heartedly. "I guess."

Dean nodded, crossing the room to put the popsicle in the freezer. A moment later, a bottle of Gatorade appeared on the end table next to him and then Dean was warming up a container of soup he could shove in the microwave. Sam smiled at the sight of his brother literally tapping his toe while he stood there waiting for the ninety seconds to tick by.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean turned around immediately and was across the room before Sam could even open his mouth again.

Rolling his eyes, Sam asked, "Did you get something for yourself?"

"Ran through a drive through," Dean said, then turned back to the microwave.

Sam didn't pursue the topic even though he knew he was being lied to again. He knew what it was like to be worried and not interested in eating, so he kept his mouth shut. Maybe if he started eating and feeling better, Dean would do the same. When Dean handed him the cup of soup, Sam told himself he was hungry even though he was feeling worse by the second.

He accepted the soup and Dean sat down next to him, taking possession of the remote. Sam let him channel hop as he forced himself to sip the cup of soup. It was chicken noodle and Sam might have teased Dean about how much of a mother hen he was if he wasn't currently so _grateful_ for how much of a mother hen Dean was.

Dean settled on a channel he never usually paused for and Sam smiled knowing the only reason he had done so was because it was a show about sharks. By the time the show was over and Dean returned to channel hopping, Sam was staring down at the soup knowing he couldn't eat even one more bite. It had seemed like a lot, but now that he was looking down at the container, he realized he hadn't eaten much at all.

"You done?" Dean's voice was gravelly and he cleared his throat as he shifted on the couch, setting the remote down.

"Yeah."

Sam let him take the soup and could read the concern and disappointment in Dean's eyes as he checked how much he'd eaten. _Not enough._ But Dean didn't comment, simply put it in the fridge.

Dean returned and said, "Ok, time for you to lay down."

"Gladly." Sam couldn't wait. Sitting up had been good at first, but he was long past ready to be flat on his back again.

"Let me do the work. Just get that pillow and hold on, ok?" Dean instructed, waiting until Sam had the pillow pressed to his stomach. "Alright. Here we go."

Obviously the meds were kicking in because Sam didn't feel like screaming when the movement pulled at his stomach. Or maybe the pillow thing did the trick. Either way, he survived the process although he couldn't straighten fully. Keeping the pillow pressed against his stomach, Sam let Dean lead him back to the bed. Pausing when he was a few steps away, Sam looked around for his gear.

"What're you looking for?"

"Pants."

Dean frowned like he didn't understand what Sam was saying, then the light dawned and he nodded. "Stay here."

Doing as he was told, Sam waited until Dean was holding out his sweatpants. He grabbed them with his free hand and said, "I got it."

"You sure?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

No, he wasn't sure but he said, "Yeah. I got it."

Dean studied him for a second longer, then nodded and walked over to the table. Sam didn't know what he was doing and didn't bother to pay any attention. Glad that his brother was giving him a little privacy and space, Sam dropped the pillow on the bed and worked on changing out of his jeans without ending up on the floor. He was successful, but by the time he'd finished, he was shaky and ready to fall over. Trying to take a step forward, he felt strong hands on his arm as he faltered.

"Two steps. You got it," Dean encouraged. One hand still on Sam's arm, he grabbed the pillow. "Alright, just like the nurse showed us."

Sam pressed the pillow against the throbbing wound and let Dean do most of the work in getting him sitting down. He squeezed his eyes closed, knowing the warmth that swept over him wasn't just from the exertion, but from fever. After a few seconds, he nodded and reached a hand to the edge of the bed, leaning to the side. Dean took care of lifting his legs and then Sam lay there, panting, for a few seconds. He heard Dean moving around, but kept his eyes closed.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Think you can lay back yet? I wanna make sure you haven't pulled out a stitch."

Sam rolled to his back, keeping the pillow pressed where it was for a few more seconds, before relenting and letting Dean move it aside. Dean was gentle as he worked and Sam started to relax, the exhaustion beginning to pull him under.

He was half-asleep by the time he felt the covers being pulled up over him. A cool hand brushed over his forehead and he shivered, hearing Dean's soft curse, but by then he'd lost the battle and he fell asleep before he could try to reassure his brother that he was ok.

* * *

His cell phone alarm woke Dean just after midnight.

Pushing himself up from where he'd cautiously crashed on his good side on the second bed, he scrubbed the spit from his cheek and the grit from his eyes as he adjusted to the semi-darkness in the room. The bathroom light was on and he'd left the door cracked when he'd fallen into bed earlier. He sat on the edge of the bed for a couple seconds, gathering his thoughts and trying to calm his rolling stomach. He didn't feel refreshed from his brief rest, but it had been better than nothing.

Glancing at the other bed, he was relieved to discover Sam was exactly where he'd last seen him. He wasn't moving restlessly, but Dean didn't delude himself into thinking that his brother was ok. It was time for another dose of Tylenol and Dean was really hoping he was going to be able to stay ahead of the fever by carefully timing each dose of the medication.

"You ok?" Sam's soft voice broke through the silence of the room.

 _Should've known he wasn't asleep_. "I'm ok."

"You get some sleep?"

"Yeah. You?"

Sam sighed heavily. "A little."

Getting up from the edge of the bed, Dean pushed the bathroom door open a little more so he could see what he was doing. He looked down at Sam and said, "You should've said something. You hurtin'?"

"I got shot." Sam smiled, but it looked forced and only lasted a split second. "Of course I'm hurtin'."

"It's a little early for the painkiller, but it probably won't be an issue this time. How warm are you feeling?"

Sam tightened his fist in the blanket like he thought Dean was going to steal it. "I'm freezing."

"Ok. Tylenol and the good stuff comin' up," Dean said, stumbling toward the table.

"You can turn another light on."

"It's fine."

And a little more light wasn't going to help much considering the reason he was stumbling had more to do with the fact he was dizzy because he hadn't eaten in hours. Oh yeah, and probably because he'd recently taken enough pills to actually kill himself. His hands were shaking as he grabbed the thermometer and got the meds ready.

Concentrating on his walking as he crossed the room again, he caught a better glimpse of Sam in the light from the bathroom. His eyes were closed, face drawn in pain and he was lying so still under the covers that Dean wasn't sure he'd moved at all since he'd laid down. He was pale except for the flush of fever. Brushing a hand across his forehead, Dean didn't need the thermometer to know Sam's fever was way too high, but he was going to use it anyway.

"Need you to sit up a bit," Dean said, setting the pills down on the nightstand next to the cup of water he'd set there after Sam had fallen asleep earlier.

Sam opened his eyes and nodded. He started fumbling with the bedding and Dean let him push the blankets aside before he intervened. Sam got his arms uncovered, then seemed to reach his limit. Dean didn't say anything, just helped him sit up enough to slide a few more pillows behind his head.

The exertion didn't do either of them any favors.

Once Sam was settled, Dean sat down next to him and held out the thermometer. He got a dirty look in return, but Sam took it and stuck it in his mouth. It was a good thing considering how badly Dean's hand was shaking. He'd probably wind up shoving the thermometer up Sam's nose or poke an eye out if he tried. They stared at each other silently while waiting for the verdict. Dean knew he was being assessed even as he was assessing his brother. At least Sam had a thermometer in his mouth and couldn't ask any questions.

When it finally beeped, Sam handed it over without attempting to look at it. Dean squinted and saw the device had confirmed what he'd already known. Setting it aside, Dean said, "You do realize you're not supposed to try for a high score on this, right?"

Sam blinked at him, eyes bloodshot and puffy. "Damn. Thought I was winning."

Dean laughed despite everything and it felt good even if it made everything hurt worse. He shook his head, enjoying the smile lighting his brother's face. Reaching for the pills and water, he said, "No, you're losing."

"Bad?" Sam rubbed a hand across his forehead.

"Yeah. 102.6. Goal is to keep it under 99, ok?" Dean said, dropping the pills into Sam's hand. He kept hold of the cup and Sam didn't even try to take it from him. By the time he'd finished with the water and sank back into the pile of pillows, Sam looked wiped out and Dean didn't feel much better.

"You wanna lay back down?"

Sam shook his head. "Here's good."

Dean thought about heading back to bed. But getting to his feet and walking that far seemed like more effort than he wanted to deal with right now. He should have grabbed some Tylenol for himself, he decided; his head and side were throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

"Go back to bed," Sam whispered.

Lowering his hand, he stared into the dark. "I will. Just...in a minute."

"What's wrong now?"

Feeling Sam shifting next to him, Dean helped him get settled on his side with a pillow pressed against his stomach. Once he was relatively comfortable, Dean said, "Nothing's wrong. Not exactly."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. I hear you on that. You should try to sleep. I don't want to stay here tomorrow."

"Why not? As far as places we've stayed, this has got to rank in the top twenty."

"Top ten probably. Did you see how clean the sink was?"

"Cups the size of shot glasses, though."

"The shampoo didn't smell like the same crap as everywhere else."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You were smelling the shampoo?"

"I always smell the shampoo."

"You do?"

"You don't?" Sam blinked up at him with a smile.

"Why the hell would I smell the shampoo?"

"Sometimes it stinks."

"Sometimes you stink." Dean rolled his eyes. "Why are we talking about shampoo?"

Sam laughed a little. "I don't know."

"Neither do I. You want another blanket?"

"Yeah. But then I won't in ten minutes when I'm hot again."

"Dude, your teeth are chattering. In ten minutes, you can ditch the blanket. I won't judge."

He got up and went to the second bed and dragged the comforter off and put it over his brother, not liking how much he was shivering. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, Dean asked, "Why don't you want to stay here?"

Sam closed his eyes and whispered, "I just wanna get home."

Dean couldn't stop the smile at hearing Sam say _home._ It had taken a long time for him to get to the place where he thought of the bunker as their home, and Dean couldn't help the way it made him feel at peace every time he heard Sam say it. The smile faded as he looked down at his brother and saw how miserable he was.

"We'll get home, Sammy. You wanna leave in the morning, we will. If you feel up to it we'll head out. But we're not going to push it, ok? It's long trip."

"Next time I get shot, I'm doing it closer to home."

Dean knew he was joking, of course, but it still gave him chills to think about it. He asked, "You gonna be able to sleep?"

"Probably not," Sam answered honestly. "I'll try. You?"

"I'll try." Dean smiled. "Need anything else?"

"No. Thanks."

Dean nodded and got back to his feet. Flopping down on his bed, Dean reached for his cell phone and set another alarm.

* * *

It took a few tries, but Sam finally was able to make out the time on the clock.

Two-fourteen in the morning.

Fourteen minutes since he'd last looked and two hours and fourteen minutes since he'd supposedly gone to sleep. He hated nights like these. Sam fought the urge to groan or even sigh because, miraculously, Dean was sound asleep. Any noise beside breathing would rouse his brother in an instant and Dean needed the sleep even more than he did. At least while he'd been drugged to his eyeballs he'd been able to sleep in the hospital.

Dean had been sleeping, or _not_ sleeping, in an uncomfortable hospital chair the past couple days and Sam was inclined to do whatever it took to allow his brother the sleep he needed now that he was in a comfortable bed. It was amazing Dean was sleeping at all. Sam hoped it was a good sign, but figured it was a bad one.

The fact he was currently sound asleep should have been comforting. It wasn't. It was concerning. Dean had done everything short of saying straight out _I am freaking out about what happened and you better get well soon or I don't know what I'm going to do._

Sam wasn't at the top of his game, not by a long shot, but he wasn't blind. Even half-stoned on painkillers he hadn't missed the black circles under Dean's eyes. Or the way his skin was corpse pale. Or how hollowed out his face looked. Like everything that had made him alive had been sucked out with a vacuum.

Tilting his head, Sam studied his brother in the minimal light provided by the half-open bathroom door. Dean didn't look any better right now than he had all day. Or in the past two days for that matter. He was sleeping, though. From all appearances, it was the sleep of the deeply exhausted. There wasn't a line of tension on his face and his limbs were relaxed, his breathing easy. If it wasn't for the ever increasing worry over his brother's condition, Sam would've smiled at the sight.

But there was something wrong with his brother and Sam wasn't stupid any more than he was blind. Either his brother was just being eaten alive from the inside out by what had happened to him, or Dean was injured more than he was letting on. He _had_ taken a beating from the werewolves and heaven knew he'd been doing more worrying than sleeping, but Sam still felt like there was more to it.

He sighed before he could help himself. Glancing at his brother, he was relieved to find his sigh hadn't disturbed Dean's sleep. Closing his eyes, Sam wished he could fall back to sleep and knew it wouldn't happen anytime soon. Staring up at the ceiling, he debated his options. There were few.

Sleep seemed impossible, but he couldn't get up and watch tv because that would wake Dean up in a heartbeat. Telling himself to just stay put and try to at least rest didn't help either. His back hurt from laying around so much and, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't _stop_ thinking about it.

Sam cautiously pushed the covers away. Rolling to his side, he pulled the pillow closer and calmed his breathing as best he could. Dean didn't twitch. So far so good. Motivating himself to sit up took a little more time, but his back demanded attention. Sam forced himself not to hold his breath as he pushed himself upright with a shaking arm. Breathing through the pain, he hunched over the pillow. The position change only made his back feel a bit less tense and left him dizzy and sweating despite the fact he was so chilled he wanted to go hug the heater. But he'd managed it on his own and hadn't disturbed his brother so he was calling it a win.

It took a few minutes before some of the dizziness receded and he felt he could take a chance on moving. Dean snoozed on, undisturbed. Sam wavered when he stood up, but didn't sit back down. If he did, he'd never get up again. He grabbed the thermometer off the nightstand and limped over to the table. Sitting down was as difficult as standing up had been and it took another moment of focused breathing to control the pain and lightheadedness.

Once the worst had passed, Sam rested his elbow against the table and took his temperature. The beep sounded like a tornado siren and startled him out of the half doze he'd fallen into in the thirty seconds since he'd put the thermometer under his tongue. He almost dropped the thermometer as he fumbled with it while trying to see if Dean had heard the beep.

Dean was still asleep. And he shouldn't have been.

They could usually sleep through almost anything. On good days, when they weren't sick or injured, they could sleep through each other's morning routines as well. But if one of them was down for any reason, it wasn't so much responsibility as it was lifelong instinct that kept the other one up and alert for sounds of distress or anything else unusual.

The beep of a thermometer in a silent room was one of those things.

Sam tightened his fingers around the thermometer as he stared at his brother. He almost didn't remember to look at the device in time to see the number before it vanished.

"New high score," he muttered under his breath, peering at the numbers. "Wonderful."

The thermometer display went blank and he wondered if there was a memory function. If Dean saw his fever was up to 103, Sam figured he'd have trouble talking his brother out of an early morning ER visit. Fumbling with the thermometer for a minute, Sam finally gave up. He'd just have to take his temperature again and hope it went down a little.

Setting the thermometer on the table, he turned to the refrigerator. There was a tiny freezer portion and he opened the door to discover Dean had at some point unpacked all the popsicles from the ruined box and put them neatly into the space. Smiling, Sam grabbed two. He opened the first one, afraid it would be orange. It wasn't. It was red. Sam closed the fridge door and settled back into the chair.

The popsicle was great in that it settled his stomach to a certain degree. It made him feel even colder, though, and he wished he'd brought a blanket. Sweat ran down his forehead and the back of his neck as he unwrapped the second popsicle. Again not orange. Sam was halfway through it before he realized he probably shouldn't have been eating so quickly. The nausea that had become a tertiary concern after the pain and the fever, suddenly plowed into him.

Groaning, he dropped the sticky, melty popsicle on the table. Should've put it on the wrapper, but the fact it wound up on the table and not the floor counted for something anyway. There'd be a sticky mess, but at least it wouldn't be on the carpet.

Sam lowered his head and pressed his free hand to his mouth. He was _not_ going to throw up. He wasn't. He'd been doing great. Somewhere, he knew there was a medication for the nausea in the stash. Dean hadn't said anything, but Sam knew he'd been receiving it as well as the painkillers all along. Right now he was tempted to dig for the nausea medication because surely it had been long enough since his last dose?

The fledgling plan to hunt for the antiemetic evaporated when he felt his stomach flip. Swallowing hard, Sam blearily searched the room for a trash can. Or even a plastic bag. But these days, his former mess of a brother had become a neat-nik and Sam didn't see a bag anywhere. Probably all tidily bundled up somewhere in a pocket of Dean's duffle.

It had started when they'd moved into the bunker, this strange new appreciation for all things orderly. Dean's room was always neat as a pin and so was his precious kitchen. Sam had experimented at first. Leaving an unwashed coffee cup in the sink. A few crumbs of bread around the toaster.

The coffee cup magically was washed and put away by the next time he'd walked through the kitchen. But he'd earned himself a lecture over the bread crumb thing. There's a dishcloth _right_ by the sink to clean up stuff like that, Sammy. We don't need to be hunting mice along with monsters, Sammy. It only takes one second, Sammy. And, oh by the way, rinse out your coffee cup next time, Sammy, it leaves stains.

After a lifetime of being the only one in the family who seemed to know how to fold his clothes, _Sam_ suddenly was the messy one.

And right now, he was going to be messing up a perfectly good hotel carpet if he didn't move. Pushing himself up, he brought the pillow with him and rushed across the room; rush being a very strong word for what he was doing. At this point, he didn't care if he was disturbing his brother's slumber. Not that it seemed anything was going to be disturbing Dean.

Sam made it to the bathroom and leaned against the counter, catching his breath and trying not to throw up. The light was too bright, but he didn't have a hand to spare to turn it off. He leaned forward, the pillow pressed between his side and the edge of the sink while he rested his elbows on the countertop, head hanging over the sink.

Gripping the back of the faucet with his left hand to help hold himself up, he turned it on with his right and splashed a few handfuls of cool water on his face. It helped. Not much, but it helped. The urge to vomit passed, but the lightheadedness wasn't relenting. Lowering his head to rest against his forearm as the room pulsed and spun, Sam gritted his teeth. The thought crossed his mind that it might not be the worst idea to call out for his brother.

But Dean was sleeping so well, it seemed a shame to disturb him.

Sam splashed a bit more water on his face, then turned the sink off and eased himself down to the floor. At first he intended just to take a breather, but by the time he was sitting on the floor, he decided it would be even better to be lying on the floor despite the grief he was going to get if his brother found out. It hurt worse than he'd expected, but once he was flat on the cold tile, the blessed relief of not being upright outweighed the agony.

Tightening his grip on the pillow, he closed his eyes and hoped he could regain enough strength to get off the floor before Dean woke up.

tbc...

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed and that it was worth the wait!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews to chapter 5! Hope you'll all enjoy this chapter! :)**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 6_**

Dean woke from a heavy sleep, dragged from its depths by the sound of his brother calling his name. His instincts were to jump up and rescue Sam from...whatever. His body, though, was not so eager. Blinking at the ceiling and trying to sort out what was going on, Dean registered first the pain in his ribs when he stiffened in surprise at the unexpected awakening. Nausea registered next, and sheer exhaustion followed last.

As his brain prioritized the symptoms, he focused on the sound of his brother's voice and realized Sam wasn't in any danger; at least not physically. Mental danger was another thing entirely and Dean could tell the difference between nightmares and reality. His brain continued urging haste, while his weary muscles followed directions at a much slower pace.

"Sam." Dean cleared his throat, rolling to his side as he tried again. "Sam, I'm-"

He broke off when he found the second bed empty. Brain and body finally agreed upon urgency and he pushed himself upright. He bit back a shout of pain when his entire side protested the quick movement. Sitting on the edge of the bed for a half second was an unfortunate necessity as the room blurred in front of him.

Once things stabilized, Dean stood up and made a quick survey of the room. From where he stood, he could see every inch of the room, including the melted popsicle on the table. Huh. Sam must have been at the table, but he wasn't now which left the bathroom.

Dean rounded the second bed and had to grab the door frame when he looked into the bathroom.

Sam was on the floor. Knees drawn up and arms loosely wrapped around a pillow. Face pressed to the tile as he mumbled and drew in harsh breaths. This time, Dean's body was in motion before his brain caught up.

"Sam," he called, kneeling next to him, hands shaking as he tilted his brother's face up. "Hey, hey, come on, look at me."

Instead of obeying, Sam squeezed his eyes closed even tighter and feebly attempted to pull away.

"Crap, you didn't listen to me, did you?" Dean asked, brushing damp hair back from the fevered face. "I told you no high score. Low score in this game, low score."

Sam pushed at his knee and Dean moved away, but only to pull himself to the counter and turn on the cold water. He was unsteady enough that he needed to keep his left hand pressed to the counter while he reached for a towel with his right. The hand towel went under the cold stream, then he dropped it onto the floor behind him with a wet slap. Once he had a washcloth soaked as well, Dean turned and sank back to the tile.

"You're not gonna like this," he muttered as he pressed the washcloth to his brother's forehead.

And he was right. Sam didn't like it at all. He flinched back from the touch and, displaying more strength than Dean had expected, Sam threw a punch that landed against Dean's left hip. Compared to the ache in his ribs, it was nothing, but it still stung. Dean kept the washcloth where it was and used his free hand to block the next punch. Sam pushed away until his back hit the wall and he had nowhere else to go.

"Alright, calm down." Dean grabbed Sam's swinging fist, and pressed his hand down against the pillow he was still clutching with his other hand. "You're gonna hurt yourself. Time to come back to reality, ok?"

Of course, coming back to reality from a high fever and what Dean knew was a vivid nightmare of the cage wasn't easy. Dean sighed and grabbed the sodden towel, whispered an apology, and flopped it over his brother's neck. Sam jerked in shock, but didn't throw a punch and didn't curse and didn't wake up.

Instead, he curled more tightly into himself, hands raised in front of his face in defense as he moaned long and low.

Dean cursed.

He'd expected something like that to happen and the fury swept over him at the same time as the hopelessness did. All these years later, and the incandescent fury hadn't diminished. Neither had the devastation of knowing some wounds would never heal. Some things he couldn't fix. The emotions were too strong, the situation too desperate, and he reacted the way he usually did.

Loudly.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, stoking the flames of his headache and probably waking the people

three floors away.

It had been too loud, too angry. Not a thoughtful thing to do to someone who was lost in a nightmare of hell and the devil.

But it worked.

"What?" Sam's eyes snapped open, defenses lowering as he heaved a gasping breath. It took only a split second for his searching gaze to find Dean's.

"Hey," Dean said, softer this time.

"Dean?"

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Dean smiled despite everything. Running a hand over his face, he nodded. "You back with me, Sammy?"

The frown said _I'm not sure yet_ , but Sam whispered, "Think so."

"Bout time."

"How long?"

"Well, I don't know how long you've been melting a hole in the floor, but I've been trying to bring you around for a few minutes now."

"Sorry." It was breathed out like a sigh as Sam's eyes closed.

"You better be," Dean said, adjusting the cool cloth on Sam's forehead. "This floor is hard. My ass is numb."

Sam paid no attention to his complaining. His eyes slid open again and he stared blankly at Dean's knee. "Was dreamin'."

"Yeah, I know. I heard." Dean tilted his head down, trying to get a better look at his brother's face. "It's what woke me up."

"I was so cold."

Dean frowned, uncertain if Sam was really with him after all. "You're anything but cold. I need to check your temperature again-"

"Felt like I was...I...like he-"

"He wasn't," Dean cut him off before he could finish the sentence. Sam looked foggy, but the fear in his eyes was crystal clear. "He's nowhere near-"

Sam shook his head wearily. "He's out there."

"He is. But you know what? Right now he's not our problem, ok?"

It was a lie, really. Because, of course he was their problem. But right now, with his fevered brother sprawled out on the cold tile and his own head and stomach both threatening to explode, Dean made the executive decision that the devil could...well, he could go to hell. At the moment, Dean really thought he had enough trouble.

"Sam, hey, you still there?"

"Hmm."

"Open your eyes and don't ignore me." Dean waited, still crouched down. It was making his head hurt worse and he was starting to develop a crick in his neck, but he needed to catch Sam's eyes. When he finally received eye contact, Dean said, "Good. Now pay attention. You're ok. He's nowhere near us and he's not gonna be and it was just a nightmare, ok? So now here's what we're gonna do: I need to check that dressing and make sure you didn't screw anything up with your nocturnal wanderings and then we're gonna get you off the floor."

Sam's eyeroll was half-hearted, but Dean appreciated the effort, especially considering he could still see the fear in his brother's eyes.

Dean's smile was brief. He turned his attention to his next major concern. "Sammy, did you fall?"

"No."

 _Thank God._ Dean pressed his right hand to the ground to help steady himself when he began to waver. He'd slept through Sam getting up and getting into the refrigerator and making it to the bathroom. The thought that he might have slept through him hitting the floor was unsettling. But at least now he knew he didn't have to worry about a head injury on top of everything else.

He flipped the washcloth over on Sam's forehead and asked, "So why're you on the floor?"

"Needed a change in scenery."

Dean assumed Sam was hoping he would laugh. He didn't.

Sam's attempt at a smile faded and he said, "I got a little dizzy."

"Why were you up in the first place?"

"Couldn't sleep," Sam mumbled, pushing at the towel over his neck. "My back is sore. Been in bed too much."

"Yeah, well, you and your back are gonna have to get used to it cuz you and your back are gonna be in bed for a long time." Dean pulled Sam's hand away from the towel. "Leave that alone. You should've woke me up."

"You were sleeping."

"Which is why you should've _woke me up."_ Dean didn't shake his head because it hurt too much to do so. He tapped Sam's shoulder. "Let me check."

Sam sighed, but released his grip on the pillow and allowed Dean to move it away. He seemed unwilling to move from his curled up position, though, so Dean made a very quick assessment of what he could see of the dressing. No blood. It was good enough for the moment.

Tugging Sam's shirt back back into place, Dean asked, "Ready to get off the floor?"

"I don't know." Sam rubbed his eyes, dislodging the washcloth. "It's kind of nice down here."

This time Dean did laugh, lowering his head to rest in his hand. He was too tired for this. They both were. He should never have allowed himself to doze off the way he had. If he'd stayed alert like he should have, his stupid brother wouldn't have gone for a midnight stroll. Dean wasn't sure he would be able to get his brother off the floor. He was feeling increasingly lightheaded and unsteady, something his too observant brother apparently noticed.

"You look like you're gonna be sick."

"I'm fine." Dean straightened and glared at him.

Sam snorted which was pretty funny considering he was still lying there like a pile of dirty laundry.

Dean pulled the cool cloths away and said, "You do understand we aren't going anywhere today, right?"

"I think I'm ok with that," Sam breathed out in surrender.

"Glad we see eye to eye." Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "Alright. Let's go."

Sam reached for his arm. Neither of them were up to the task, but Dean wasn't leaving his brother on the floor.

He was sick to death of seeing his brother on the floor.

* * *

Sam didn't know why he was bothering to grab Dean's arm. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said he thought his brother looked like he was about to be sick. Even now, as Dean was pulling him upright, Sam watched what passed for color leech out of his face, leaving him looking grey and faint. In a heartbeat, Sam's grip changed from helping himself up to holding _his brother up._

He hadn't wanted to move. Thought staying put for a bit longer would have been better. Dean had disagreed and now Sam was half-sitting, bracing one arm against the floor while he tried to hold his brother up with the other. None of which was helping the pain in his side or his swimming head. If his head was swimming, though, it was clear that Dean's had disconnected entirely.

He looked like he was going to pass out cold.

"Dean, man, you gotta hang on here," Sam urged, breathless from the strain. "I can't...I can't-"

The panic in his tone must have pierced the fog. Dean broke free from his grip, lurched to the left, and vomited into the toilet. Sam almost went straight back down to the floor. He pressed his right hand to his side and locked his left elbow. Shaking, he leaned against the wall and fought to hold onto consciousness.

For a few minutes, things went a bit dark. Sam was still conscious; aware enough to register the sounds of his brother being sick, but out of it enough not to be able to move. The pain was searing and he was fighting not to be sick himself. He really wished Dean hadn't insisted on trying to pull him up yet because they were both paying for it now.

A particularly loud groan brought his attention back to the present and Sam blinked until he brought the room into focus. Dean had his elbows resting on the toilet seat, head in his hands as he panted and gagged. Sam tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He wanted to do something to help his brother, but at the moment, decided just sitting where he was and not falling over would be the best thing for both of them.

After a few more minutes, Dean fell quiet and Sam chanced opening his eyes again. His brother was still slumped over the toilet, breathing heavily.

"Dean?"

The response was a minute in coming. "Yeah?"

Sam wasn't sure what he should say next. Asking _are you ok_ seemed laughable and a waste of breath. Neither of them were ok. Instead, Sam picked up the towel and held it out.

"Here."

Dean tilted his head a pinch, blinked bloodshot eyes at Sam, then reached for the towel. He pressed it to his mouth for a moment, wiped his face with it, then settled it around his shoulders. After another minute or two, he flushed the toilet, then flopped over against the tub. He looked wrecked. Emotionally as well as physically.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Dean motioned to the towel. "This the one that was on your sweaty neck?"

"Yeah. And now it's on your sweaty neck. Sue me." The sentence took everything he had, but the smile he shocked out of his brother was worth it.

The smile faded and Dean motioned to the toilet. "Sorry 'bout that."

Sam nodded, but didn't waste a breath to reply. He'd gone from feeling too cold to feeling too hot and from feeling like crap to feeling like death warmed over. Dean wasn't doing well. At all. But Sam couldn't help hoping his brother was going to figure out a way to fix everything. Because he was at a complete loss.

"You're a mess," Dean said, his voice so chewed up it made Sam's throat hurt.

"And you're not?" Sam countered, wishing he had the breath and endurance necessary to investigate what was really going on.

Dean snorted, running a hand down his face. "Ok. I might be."

Sam's eyebrows rose and he was glad he was sitting down because that statement would have just taken his legs out from under him had he been standing.

Apparently Dean realized it because he quickly said, "But I'm fine."

"You aren't fine."

Dean waved a hand. "Look. I'm not gonna sit here arguing with you. You look like hell." Dean held up a hand. "And yes, I know I look like hell, too. You wanna sit here and discuss it or you wanna get off the floor?"

"I don't know if I can."

That got Dean moving. He dropped the towel on the edge of the tub and pushed himself forward. Faster than Sam had expected, Dean was on his knees in front of him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other cupping his jaw.

"Man, you're burning up. We gotta get you back in bed." Dean pushed the pillow at him. "Come on. Move."

Sam wanted to do anything _but_ move. Dean was determined, though, even if his skin remained bled of all color and his entire body was trembling. From years of experience, Sam knew a determined Dean was a force to be reckoned with, so he didn't bother to protest or struggle. It was taking all his flagging energy just to move his aching and leaden limbs.

"You should have woke me up." Dean grunted as he hauled Sam to his knees.

"Thought...we weren't...gonna argue," Sam gasped, slamming his free hand against the wall when they both wavered, "about that...anymore."

"No. We weren't gonna...argue…'bout how...I'm not...fine," Dean huffed and puffed, dragging them both to their feet. "So stop...arguing with me...about arguing...with me."

It was ludicrous and, if he'd possessed the strength, Sam would have laughed. It wasn't the first time they'd stumbled like a couple drunks out of a bathroom, but sometimes it was because they were actually drunk and not half-dead. Sam would've preferred to be drunk.

"You're...so...heavy," Dean muttered, stumbling the last two steps to the bed.

Sam couldn't catch his breath and he couldn't lift his head so he didn't bother to snipe back at his brother. He closed his eyes and trusted Dean to get them where they needed to go. Like every other time in their entire lives, Dean didn't fail him.

"Easy. Right there. Ok...good job." Dean slumped heavily onto the bed next to him and Sam smiled at the praise. He hadn't done anything, but Dean was acting like he'd somehow participated in the effort.

He still hadn't opened his eyes and the only thing keeping him upright was Dean's arm around his shoulders and his hand against his chest. Sam leaned into the support, flat out too miserable to be embarrassed. Dean readjusted his grip, settling them together more comfortably. For a few minutes, they just sat. Breathing. Regrouping. Surviving.

"I'm sorry," Dean finally broke the silence.

Sam didn't ask what for because he could guess.

Dean confirmed it when he said, "I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

"Don't," Sam whispered, knowing Dean would hear everything he wasn't able to say. _Don't beat yourself up about it. You need the sleep. You're sick and I'm worrying about you and we're fine and it's gonna get better from here._

He heard Dean sigh, felt his fingers give the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. "You ok for a minute?"

Sam nodded, bracing a hand on the mattress. Dean patted his chest, then pushed the pillow closer to his abdomen. He kept a hand on Sam's shoulder to steady himself as he got to his feet, then said, "Hang onto that for me."

Not bothering to reply or ask where Dean was going, Sam held onto the pillow as instructed and waited, eyes closed.

"Here." A hand squeezed his shoulder again and the bed dipped as Dean sat down.

Sam cracked his eyes, saw the thermometer and sighed. He took it from his brother. And then handed it back when it beeped.

"Not good," Dean said. "101."

Knowing it was pointless, Sam tried to be positive. "It's better than it was earlier."

True to form, Dean hit the memory recall on the device. Sam heard the aggravation in his voice when he said, "103? Damn it, Sam!"

The words were forceful, but the hand on the back of his neck was as gentle as ever. Sam stared at the carpet without seeing it. He was tired and wanted to lay down, but it didn't seem worth the effort. He wanted to ask Dean how he was feeling, what was going on with him, why he was so sick. But he didn't. Not because it didn't seem worth the effort; it was just that he didn't have the energy to engage in something he knew would become an argument.

"Alright. You need to lay down." Dean kept a hand on his shoulder as he stood up. "Nice and slow."

It was definitely slow, but Sam didn't think it was very nice. It hurt. By the time he was lying back against the pillows, he was rigid with the pain. He couldn't straighten his legs and he couldn't open his eyes. A cool cloth was settled over his eyes before he'd even realized his brother had moved away from the bedside.

"Breathe." Dean's hand was on his shoulder, but he wasn't sitting on the bed this time.

"Hurts." Sam wasted a breath to say it. He was being a gigantic baby, but, at the moment, he didn't give a damn.

"I know. Hold on."

Dean moved away and Sam focused on his breathing. By the time Dean returned, some of the pain, and panic, had diminished. Sam felt the bed dip and slid the cloth away from his eyes so he could peer at his brother.

"Got the meds." Dean spared him a quick glance, then went back to fiddling with the pill container.

"Too early?"

"No."

Sam frowned. "What time is it?"

"After four," Dean announced, force-feeding him the pills. "Take a sip."

Allowing him to control the cup, Sam swallowed and decided it would be best for both of them if he didn't bother to tell his brother he'd been on the bathroom floor since around two-thirty.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"You need to take care of yourself."

"Sam-"

"I'm serious." Sam held up a hand when he saw Dean's mouth open again. "Please. Listen?"

Dean sighed, but he didn't sound irritated so much as he sounded exhausted.

Sam took what he could get. He swallowed hard, then forced the words out while he had them lined up neatly in his head. "You gotta take care of yourself. I need you to do that, ok? For me. I can't help you right now like I want to. So you gotta do it for me."

"Ok, Sammy." There wasn't a hint of mocking or sarcasm in his tone. The corner of Dean's mouth turned up in a half smile as he readjusted the washcloth on Sam's forehead. "I can do that for you."

The relief was almost as staggering as it had been when he'd heard Dean's wisecrack in the clinic after Corbin had hit the ground. Sam squeezed his eyes closed as the emotional toll of _everything_ caught up with him again.

"Stop thinking so much," Dean's voice was a whisper. "Come on, settle down and try to sleep."

Sam doubted it was going to be that simple, but by the time Dean had tucked a pillow under his knees, drawn up the covers and flipped the washcloth, Sam was fighting the pull of sleep.

"I'm gonna take care of you. Just like always." Dean patted his chest. "Don't worry about anything. Just sleep."

"Can you...sleep? Too?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah. I'll sleep too. Now shut up."

Sam smiled and took his first easy breath in hours.

* * *

Neither of them slept.

The hours passed monotonously. Miserably.

His memories were muddled and jumbled, but he knew Dean never left his side. Ever since Dean had gotten him back to bed, Sam had either felt burning heat or icy cold and both temperature extremes had left him losing his mind thinking he was back in the cage. Dean had always been there to reassure him so at least he hadn't drifted so far into the shadows that he couldn't be found again.

Sun was just peeking around the blinds when Dean headed into the bathroom. He grunted and groaned as he moved around and Sam listened to him in a sort of hazy half-awareness. He considered trying to get up while his brother was occupied, but decided, like so many other things, it wasn't worth the effort. Within moments, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Dreams of werewolves and running through the woods twisted up with visions of Lucifer and Amara and the Mark of Cain until Sam woke up again, heart pounding.

"You alright?" Dean's voice came from somewhere behind him.

"Yeah."

"Well, you don't look alright." Dean walked into his view, scrubbing at his hair with a towel, and frowned down at him. "You look like shit. We shouldn't have left the hospital."

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, say he was fine and get up and get moving. Anything to alleviate the fear in his brother's eyes. But he couldn't do any of those things. Because he felt like shit. Exhausted, achy, and sick to his stomach, Sam had a passing moment of wondering if Dean was right about the hospital. His lack of response did not set his brother's mind at ease which was the opposite of what Sam had been trying to do.

Dean pitched the towel back into the bathroom, checked his watch and said, "It's three hours till check out and about two until you get more pills. You've got two hours and I want you to spend them resting. Two hours and if I don't like what I see by then, we're going back to the hospital. No discussions and no arguments."

He didn't think anything was going to change in two hours, but Sam didn't comment. As much as he wanted to, he was too tired to fight about anything. His eyes slid closed and he drifted back to sleep a moment later.

* * *

Dean stared at his brother. He hadn't been joking about the hospital thing. Ever since he'd found him on the floor at four AM, Dean had been contemplated the merits of dragging his fevered, semi-coherent brother back to the hospital. Even now, he wasn't quite sure why he _hadn't._

Sitting down heavily on the other bed, he ran a hand through his damp hair and took a shaky breath. He needed sleep. And he needed to eat. Sitting up all night with his sick sibling hadn't exactly helped him get any rest. Dean straightened slightly and looked at his brother, reminding himself that no matter how awful the night had been, they were both alive. Worse for the wear, but alive.

His stomach turned and he had to lower his head and rest it on his crossed arms on his knees. He didn't want a repeat of earlier when his stomach had parted with the few things he'd put into it over the last twenty-four hours.

Sick as he felt and worried as he was, Dean knew he needed to take care of himself if he stood any chance of getting them both home safely. He also needed to do it because he'd promised Sam he would. So he pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room. Selecting a bottle of Gatorade, he tried a sip and it almost didn't stay down. Bracing a hand on the counter, Dean fought to keep the liquid where it belonged. Once he was more or less sure it wasn't coming back up, he dug through the tiny freezer and pulled out a popsicle.

Putting his feet up on another chair, he sat back and found the popsicle settled better than the Gatorade had. Yes, he felt like an idiot for sitting around eating a popsicle like a five year old. Technically, he was sick, so in that case it was ok. At least that's what he told himself as he rubbed at his throbbing head.

By the time he'd finished the popsicle, he felt good enough to force down a couple Tylenol with another sip of Gatorade. He wasn't going to pursue anything else right now.

Studying his brother, Dean wondered how much of an argument he was going to have on his hands if he forced the issue of going to a hospital. Sam hadn't put up a fuss about trying to get some more rest. Maybe he wasn't going to argue about it after all.

Dean didn't feel up to arguing. He felt like he needed to lie down. Again.

Getting back across the room to his bed was an exercise in patience and concentration. He took the Gatorade with him and it was a good thing he'd put the lid back on or there would have been purple stains all across the cream colored carpet. Dropping heavily onto his bed, Dean decided there were some good reasons for all the ugly, dark, mottled carpets in the motels they usually frequented.

He placed the bottle on the nightstand and set an alarm on his watch for an hour and a half. Pulling the covers over his shoulders as he lay back down, Dean rolled onto his side and watched Sam sleep for a minute before he lost the battle to keep his eyes open.

Dean had given Sam two hours to get better or wind up back at the hospital. He was giving himself one and a half.

* * *

When Sam woke up he didn't feel better. He just felt _less_ bad than he had earlier. He lay still for a few minutes, taking stock and trying to decide if _less bad_ was going to cut it with his brother or if he'd find himself back in a hospital bed. After a minute, he decided he didn't need a hospital and wasn't going anywhere near one. Sam just hoped he had enough strength to fight that battle when it happened.

Opening his eyes, he blinked at the brightness of the room and searched for his brother. It didn't take long to locate him, but he was surprised to find Dean lying on the other bed. Sam shifted so he could see better and realized Dean had the covers up to his shoulders and appeared to be sound asleep. It would have made Sam smile if not for the fact his brother's skin was the color of paper and he looked like he was hurting, even in his sleep.

 _Maybe I'm not the one who needs a hospital,_ Sam mused, rubbing his eyes. He let his hand rest on his chest while he continued to analyze the situation. The clock was just out of sight, so he had no idea if two hours had passed. Or if ten had. He hadn't expected to fall back to sleep but he'd gone under in a heartbeat and he had to admit he did feel some level of improvement. The sleep had been undisturbed by pain or fever as opposed to his sleep during the night.

Dean had gone back to bed, too, which was a sign of how bad he must be feeling. Sam knew Dean must not have slept much during the night. Considering how unwell he looked right now, Sam knew not rushing back to the bunker made sense.

He didn't want to stay at unfamiliar hotels, nice as they might be, and he didn't want to sleep on a bed that wasn't his. They had a place to call home for the first time in their lives. And Sam wanted to be there now, enjoying all the comforts of that home. It was a new concept, but one he was beginning to relish.

There was no way he was going to push, though. Dean was the one doing all the driving and something was going on with him. Maybe it was the stress of the hunt and the aftermath. Maybe it was all the stress of the long nights sitting up with him. Maybe he was just getting sick. Sam wasn't sure, but he knew he could put up with a decent hotel room if he had to in order to allow his brother some time to recover.

"Hey."

Sam focused on the present and realized Dean was awake now and staring at him. Clearing his throat, he returned the greeting, discovering his voice sounded as weak as he felt. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke again. Dean hadn't made a move to try to hide the fact he'd been sleeping and he wasn't pushing the covers aside yet. Sam opened his mouth, but Dean broke the silence before he could.

"I know you wanna get home. But you're still sick and after last night, there's no way you're sitting up in the car for hours. You're not ready."

Sam nodded. They'd agreed on that last night. As much as he wanted to be, he wasn't ready and right now even the thought of sitting up in the bed wasn't appealing, let alone sitting up in the car.

"I'm not sure I could drive right now, either," Dean whispered as if he were ashamed to admit it. He still hadn't moved from where he lay on his side under the covers.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked, still struggling to get his voice above a whisper.

To his shock, Dean shook his head.

They stared at each other and Sam tried to figure out what to do now, what his brother needed. For him to admit he wasn't ok? It meant things were serious.

"What's going on? You coming down with something?" Sam asked, then a bolt of panic ran through him. There was almost an entire day he was missing. A day when he'd been struggling to stay alive and get to his brother. A day when he had no idea what had happened to his brother. "Did something happen? Is it more than just the ribs? Are you covering up another injury?"

Dean snorted, but didn't roll his eyes. "I'm fine. No hidden werewolf claws or bite marks."

"That's not funny."

"I know." Dean sighed, sneaking one hand out to rub his eyes. "I'm...just run down, ok? The past few days have been...well you know how they've been."

Sam smiled a little.

"How're you doing now?" Dean asked. He yawned then tucked his hand back under the covers.

"I don't feel great. But getting some more sleep helped."

Dean pulled his arm back out and squinted at his watch. "It's only been an hour. Got an alarm set."

 _Only an hour?_ It had felt like a small eternity.

"You think you can go back to sleep?" Dean asked, looking so tired that Sam decided he would try whether he thought he could or not.

"Maybe."

"Need anything? Pills? Well…" Dean's voice trailed off as he squinted at his watch again. "Too early for them. Water, ice-"

"I'm ok right now."

"You feel like you're running a fever?"

"I don't think so."

"Keep it that way." Dean grunted and stretched out a hand to grab the phone on the night stand between them. "Gonna see if we can get the room another night."

"Ok."

Sam moved a little and found a more comfortable position with the pillow pressed to his side. The pain wasn't as sharp right now and he realized he might not have to try very hard to fall back to sleep. Already he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He listened to his brother talking to the front desk staff and breathed a little easier when he heard they would be able to stay. The thought of even moving to another room seemed overwhelming. Dean was right; he wasn't ready.

 _They_ weren't ready

Dean fumbled with the phone and somehow managed to get it back on the nightstand without dropping it on the floor. He adjusted something on his watch, then settled beneath the covers again and said, "We're good for another night."

"Ok."

"Got an alarm set for when your next dose is due. We'll get something to eat then. Gotta eat." His words were running together as if he was drunk, but Sam knew it was just the exhaustion. Dean yawned again and seemed to be having as much trouble keeping his eyes open as Sam was. "Try to sleep, ok?"

"I will."

"Yeah. Me too," Dean whispered, eyes already closed.

Sam smiled and watched over his brother until Dean fell asleep. Then he closed his eyes and sleep pulled him under, too.

tbc...

* * *

 **Poor boys. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi! Thanks for all your wonderful reviews to ch 6! Special thanks to MissBayliss-can't reply directly to you, but wanted you to know how much I appreciated and was encouraged by your review! thank you! :)**

 **Hope everyone enjoys the chapter!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7**_

Dean woke up to a muffled sound of pain. It took him longer than it should have to process where he was and what was happening, but his sluggish brain finally kicked in. Buried under the blankets, he began untangling himself and peeling his eyes open.

The first successful thing he did was manage to call his brother's name. He didn't get an answer. Lack of response after a sound of pain equaled nothing good. Dean shoved the blankets aside and sat up, swaying a little as he did so. He checked the other bed and found Sam sitting up on the edge, facing the opposite direction. One hand braced on the bed, the other wrapped around his side, Sam was hunched over so far that his head was almost on his knees.

"Sam?" Dean stumbled around the bed and wound up kneeling in front of his brother when his balance failed him. "What's goin' on? What're you doing up?"

His breathing was unsteady and he didn't move or even lift his head, but Sam whispered, "Bathroom."

"You should've asked for help."

"You were asleep."

"Yeah, well I'm not now and you should've woke me up. I thought we talked about this last night." Dean took a peek at his watch and cursed. He'd slept through the alarm. Sam had been due for his medications two hours ago.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, lifting his head enough that Dean could see his face.

Dean wanted to curse some more. Because his brother's face was washed out and creased in pain. Taking a slow breath, Dean said, "You're overdue for meds. I missed the alarm."

"You needed the sleep. It's ok."

"It's not ok. I can see how _not ok_ it is from the way you're sittin' there."

Sam tried to straighten and didn't get far. "Can you just help me get up? Please?"

Dean nodded, struggling to his feet and hoping he wouldn't fall over in front of his brother. He put a hand against Sam's shoulder to steady himself and hoped his brother would interpret it as a gesture of support. By the time Dean was sure he wouldn't fall over, Sam had made it a few inches more upright. It took a couple minutes and a lot of patience before they were both on their feet.

Sam almost went right back down, but Dean kept him on his feet. It wasn't easy since he was dizzy himself, but compared to his brother, Dean was a rock.

"Alright. Come on, one step at a time," he coached, knowing they needed to get the show on the road before one or both of them hit the floor. Sam leaned a bit more heavily against him, still not standing up straight. "Doin' great. Keep going."

For a bathroom that was less than ten steps away, it seemed to take hours to get there. Dean spent the trip holding his brother up, cursing himself for missing the alarm.

"Got it," Sam whispered a minute later, one hand braced against the sink.

He was breathless and swaying, and Dean didn't want to leave him. From the look in his brother's eyes, though, Sam was feeling good enough to put up an argument at that level of assistance. Carefully releasing his hold, Dean said, "Ok. I'm gonna wait right outside the door. You so much as feel a hint of dizziness-"

"Oh, I feel more than a hint." Sam smiled for a split second, leaning a hip against the sink and shoving weakly at Dean's chest with his hand. "I'll be fine. Go away."

Dean went away with a few choice threats of what would happen if certain stubborn brothers fell over after they said they were fine. Sam actually laughed. Pulling the door closed and leaning against the wall, Dean didn't think it was funny. He rubbed his eyes and decided he better be careful or _he_ was going to be the one falling over.

He felt as dizzy as Sam looked and his stomach was threatening another rebellion. Dean knew he needed to eat something. They both did. Eating was topping his priority list. _After_ getting his brother back to bed and high on painkillers.

Standing by the bathroom door didn't last long. Dean kept a hand against the wall until he was able to sink down onto his brothers bed. Resting there, Dean closed his eyes and waited. After a minute, he heard the toilet flush and then the sink turned on. Relieved he hadn't heard the sound of his brother hitting the floor yet, Dean forced himself back to his feet.

The water turned off and he braced a hand on the wall and waited for the door to open. Instead, he heard a groan followed by a bout of retching that left his own stomach turning. His hand was already on the doorknob when he heard Sam call his name.

Opening the door, Dean was relieved to find his brother still standing. Barely. One hand pressed to his side, his other hand had a death-grip on the faucet and his head was hanging over the edge of the sink.

Dean didn't hesitate to rush forward to grip his shoulder. Pushing down the rising nausea, he peeked at the sink and discovered his brother hadn't thrown up anything more than a few mouthfuls of spit. Since he hadn't eaten anything substantial in days, it was small comfort.

Refocusing, Dean tightened his grip and asked, "Think you can move?"

Sam swallowed hard, shifting enough that Dean could see most of his face. What he saw wasn't reassuring. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

Dean didn't know if the whispered word was merely Sam acknowledging his presence, or if it was him agreeing with the plan to move. Either way, Dean didn't care. It was time to move. For both their sakes.

"Ok, let's go."

Sam's white-knuckled grip on the faucet released and Dean was glad he'd been hanging on as tightly as he had or Sam would've hit the floor. It was a painful, miserable walk back to the bed, but they succeeded.

Once he had his brother sitting (more or less) on the edge of the bed, Dean said, "Stay there. I'll get your pills."

He started to move, but his wrist was caught in a surprisingly tight grip.

"Need to lay down." Sam's voice was weak, but there was no mistaking the urgency.

"You need to-"

"Now."

Dean had planned to argue the point, but realized there was no point in arguing when Sam was on the verge of passing out. Despite his own dizziness and weakness, Dean didn't waste another second in assisting his brother back into bed. Sam didn't thank him. His eyes were glazed and drifting shut every few seconds, but he finally let go of Dean's wrist.

For a moment, he wasn't sure what to do. The fact was they both needed to hydrate and Sam needed the medications. But right now Sam didn't look like he was going to be able to tolerate anything.

"Dean?"

He did a doubletake because he hadn't expected to hear another word out of his brother for awhile. Clearing his scratchy throat, Dean asked, "What?"

"You should eat. Y'look sick."

For someone struggling to hold onto consciousness, Sam was too observant. Dean laughed bitterly. "You're not a picture of health yourself, you know?"

Sam cracked a tiny smile, closed his eyes and whispered, "I know."

"Glad you're not stuck in the Impala on a bumpy back road right now, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Sam didn't open his eyes, but reached out a fumbling hand, snagging Dean's sleeve. "Please."

Only because they'd lived side by side for more of their lives than they _hadn't_ did Dean know Sam was still pressing the matter of Dean needing to eat. Sighing, he pulled Sam's hand away and rested it down against his chest. "Alright. If you're gonna be annoying about it. But I eat, you eat. You are not gonna feel better until you get something in you and take those pills."

Sam didn't respond or open his eyes. It could've been a sign of acquiescence or it could have been a sign that his brother didn't have the strength left to argue. Either way, Dean was going to use it to his advantage.

Crossing the room to the kitchenette, Dean hunted around in the bags of gear until he found what he was looking for. Gathering everything up, he returned to his brother's side. Sam hadn't moved, but he peeled his eyes open when Dean carefully sat down on the edge of the bed.

Dean set the supplies on the nightstand and returned his brother's gaze. "You got choices. Gatorade or ginger ale. Pick one."

Sam waved his fingers which Dean interpreted as resignation coupled with the inability to make a decision.

"Okie dokie. Gatorade it is." Dean took the cap off a fresh bottle and dropped a straw into it.

"Bendy straw?" Sam asked, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Or you can just wear it."

"Bendy straw."

"You're still gonna need to sit up a little." Dean set the bottle aside and began rearranging the pillows and gently helping his brother move. The activity left both of them breathless. Once he'd recovered a little, Dean carefully reached out for the bottle.

Sam took it with his free hand and rested it on his chest; his other hand never leaving his side. Dean kept his mouth shut and waited. Finally, Sam took an anemic sip that left him looking greener than he had already. But nothing came back up so that was a step in the right direction.

 _Two steps to go,_ Dean thought to himself. Food then pills then Sam could sleep for the next five hours if he wanted to. "What do you want to try to eat?"

"Dean-"

"You gotta take the pills. You want some soup or crackers?"

Sam stared at him and it was obvious he didn't like either option.

Dean hoped for the best and offered, "I do have applesauce if that sounds better."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You bought applesauce?"

"Yeah. They make 'em in little containers." Dean motioned with his hands trying to illustrate what he was talking about.

When Sam didn't protest, he reached over to the nightstand, then grinned and brandished a container. It was stupid, but he was thrilled with the little containers of applesauce. They were the coolest thing he'd seen in a long time. With a flourish, Dean peeled the top back on one of them and presented it to Sam with the same fork as yesterday.

Hesitating for a moment, Sam took them both. "You have heard of spoons, right?"

"Don't complain. Be grateful you don't have to drink the applesauce like the soup."

Smiling, Sam ate the applesauce without another word of complaint.

* * *

The volume was still up on the tv and Sam wished he could get to the remote because the noise was aggravating his headache. It didn't seem to be bothering his brother any, though. Checking his watch, Sam discovered it was mid-afternoon; much later than he'd realized.

After he'd eaten his own pseudo-breakfast, he'd watched Dean settle back on the couch with the crackers and Gatorade. Dean had admitted he wasn't up to going downstairs for the breakfast buffet which was concerning. Sam's only consolation was that Dean had at least made an effort to eat something and had finished off his own bottle of Gatorade.

Ever since, they'd silently watched tv without really paying attention. Dean had thoughtfully tilted the screen so Sam could see it from where he lay in bed. It had been a nice gesture but, between the meds and good old-fashioned exhaustion, Sam had struggled to keep his eyes open, let alone focused. The tv had provided a lulling background noise for both of them and, after awhile, Dean had drifted off to sleep.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. Despite not being able to keep his eyes open, he hadn't been able to fall back to sleep. The pain was muted, but he was uncomfortable. No position he attempted felt good for long and everything ached, but at least he wasn't as sick to his stomach now.

He couldn't remember what time he was due for more medications, but he hoped it was soon. Shifting again, Sam pulled the blankets closer, wishing he had three more.

"What's wrong?" Dean's voice was groggy and hoarse and difficult to hear over the tv.

Glancing over at the couch, Sam saw his brother sitting on the edge and scrubbing at his eyes. "Did I wake you up?"

"Wasn't asleep." Dean yawned, then was at full attention. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Couldn't sleep."

"You've been moving around every two seconds for the past hour, Sam," Dean muttered, flipping the tv off. "Pain or fever or both?"

Sighing, Sam knew it was pointless to deny it. "I'm just uncomfortable."

Dean checked his watch then looked back. "Close enough for your next dose. Hungry?"

"No."

"Good," Dean said, pushing himself slowly to his feet. "Soup it is."

Sam didn't bother protesting. He pulled the blankets closer and watched his brother.

"You feel up to getting out of bed?" Dean asked from across the room.

"Not really."

"Lazy, lazy."

It took a few minutes before Dean was back with the soup and pills. A few more minutes before Sam was settled against a pile of pillows, medicated and holding the cup of soup. He hadn't been interested in eating, but the soup was good and helped warm him up.

He watched Dean wander back to the table and search through what constituted their groceries. Wrapping his hands around the cup of soup, Sam asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Tired. But fine."

It was the answer Sam had expected. He forced himself to take another sip of the soup as he watched his brother. After a minute, Dean seemed to give up the search.

"Dean?"

He turned around and asked, "Yeah?"

"Go get yourself something to eat."

"I'm not-" Dean broke off as his stomach growled. They both smiled and Dean shrugged. "Ok, maybe I am hungry."

"Maybe you are."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, studying the supplies on the table for a moment. Then he glanced back and asked, "You ok if I go grab a sandwich? There's a sub shop across the street."

"Go." Sam waved his free hand, thrilled that Dean was interested in a sandwich. There was still hesitation in his eyes and posture, though, so Sam decided to give him a nudge. "A sandwich sounds good, actually."

"It does?" Dean's downtrodden expression brightened with hope.

"Yeah. Just get me a ham and cheese or something."

"No spinach and lettuce and kale? No jalapenos or-"

"Just ham and cheese," Sam interrupted him. He was tolerating the soup and the sandwich _did_ sound good, but he didn't need to be thinking about things like jalapenos right now.

Dean nodded, seeming to relax more by the second. He checked his wallet, then asked, "Uh, you got any cash left?"

"Yeah." Sam frowned, looking around. "What'd you do with my jeans?"

"Right here," Dean answered, grabbing them from off the back of a chair. Pulling out Sam's wallet, he grabbed a twenty. "Anything else you want?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Yeah, that's debatable." Dean rolled his eyes, crossing the room. "You done with that?"

Sam let him take the soup. He'd finished half of it. Dean set it on the counter and Sam pulled the blankets closer yet again.

"Need anything before I leave? Speak now because you better not move an inch while I'm gone."

He wanted to be mouthy and a pain in the ass, but in all honesty, Sam was too worn out to bother. The effort of eating, sitting up, and carrying on a conversation had sapped what little energy he had left. So he just shook his head, sinking back into the pillows and trying to keep his eyes open.

Dean smirked a bit and said, "You'll be asleep before I get back."

"Probably."

* * *

By the time he returned from the sandwich shop and a quick side stop at the 24 hour pharmacy a block away, as he'd predicted, Sam was sound asleep. It was for the best, Dean knew. He locked the door quietly behind himself and set the second sandwich and his other purchase on the table. Pausing halfway to the couch, he did a quick assessment.

Sam was lax against the pillows, sleeping comfortably at last.

Flopping down on the couch, Dean flipped the tv on and turned the volume all the way down. He put his feet up on the coffee table, opened his sandwich and ate it in silence while watching a road race across a desert. The thought crossed his mind, not for the first time, that they should see if the Bunker could get cable.

By the time the race was over, he'd finished the sandwich. Staring down at the empty wrapping on his lap, Dean felt like it was a good sign. It was the first time he'd eaten anything substantial in days. At the hospital, he'd forced himself to eat a few bites here and there, but it had all tasted like ash and not all of it stayed down.

He wouldn't admit it to his brother, but he still didn't feel right. Better, yes, but not even close to one-hundred percent yet. At least so far Sam seemed to be accepting it on the basis that he was overtired and overstressed and that his healing ribs were bothering him; all of which was the truth, even if it wasn't the _whole_ truth. But, other than when they'd been leaving the clinic, Sam hadn't outright asked him what he'd done and Dean would be damned if he'd offer up an explanation.

Dean hoped they could keep it that way.

Crumpling the trash into a ball, he set it on the coffee table and leaned back into the cushions. Much as he, _they,_ both wanted to be home, he had to admit this place wasn't half bad. Staying for a second night had been a good idea.

Dean glanced at his brother and wondered if a third night might not be bad idea either. But he wasn't broaching that subject until the morning. He'd see how the rest of the day and the night went. If it was another bad night, they wasn't going anywhere.

Two hours later, he heard Sam shifting under the covers.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Sitting up a bit straighter, Dean looked over at the bed. "What's up?"

Sam rubbed a hand over his eyes, then asked, "Did you get your sandwich?"

"Yeah. You want yours now?"

"No."

"Thought you were hungry."

"Not so much."

"You feel worse?"

There was a long silence.

Dean prompted, "Sam?"

His brother waved a hand. "Not worse. Just not great."

"What're you thinking?"

"That I wish I'd moved faster," Sam said, with a grimace. He pressed a hand to his side.

"Yeah. I wish you'd moved faster, too."

"My back's killing me." Sam waved his hand again. Apparently that was all the energy he could muster these days. "I'm ready to sit up for awhile."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"You sit up, you eat something."

"I'll try."

"Deal."

It was the best they were going to get, Dean decided.

Getting Sam up and out of bed was a little easier than it had been before, and Dean told himself it was a good sign. They were both doing a little better if they could function enough to get settled on the couch without either of them keeling over from dizziness or nausea. The exertion still left Sam a few shades too pale, but he sank into the couch cushions with a smile.

"Better?" Dean couldn't help but return the smile.

"Much."

"Alright. Sandwich next."

"Fine, fine." There was no enthusiasm in Sam's tone, but at least he wasn't arguing.

Dean presented him with the sandwich and eased himself down onto the couch next to his brother. For awhile they silently watched tv. It felt good, actually, to be settled with nowhere to go and nothing they needed to be doing.

"You feeling ok?"

"Super. You're the one who got shot," Dean pointed out unnecessarily.

"You're the one who was puking last night."

"You were close."

Sam shook his head. "But you were the one who actually made peace with the toilet god."

Dean grimaced. "I'm not sure peace is what I'd call it."

"But you're feeling ok now?" Sam sounded worried and Dean needed to put an end to that.

"It's been a rough couple of days. And it was a rough night. Again. But I'm fine so give it a rest and focus on yourself."

"Fine." Sam lay back against the couch and closed his eyes.

"You ok?"

Sam laughed. "Yes. I'm focusing on myself like you wanted. I'm closing my eyes and relaxing."

"You barely touched your sandwich."

"I told you I wasn't hungry."

"And I told you that eating was part of the sitting up deal."

Sam sighed dramatically, but was smiling as he asked, "Is this how it's gonna be? You harassing and mothering me endlessly until-"

"I don't mother you."

"Maybe not, but you're _smothering_ me."

"If I was smothering you, you'd be a lot quieter right now which would be nice. I'm trying to watch this show and-"

"You're _brothering_ me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's not a word."

"It is now." Sam kicked Dean's foot where it rested next to his on the coffee table. "You're gonna be like this when we're ninety, aren't you?"

"Like what?"

"Brothering."

Snorting, Dean said, "Still not a word. And you really think we're gonna live to ninety?"

"Not at this rate."

Dean glanced at him. "Made it longer than I expected."

"Considering we've both been dead before," Sam mumbled, "not sure it's much of a record."

"Thanks, Mr. Negativity."

Sam smiled, slowly opening his eyes.

"You're not gonna eat any more of that?"

"Save it for me?" Sam asked, not even lifting a finger to attempt to wrap up the sandwich.

Huffing in exaggerated annoyance, Dean wrapped the paper back around the sandwich and set it on the coffee table. Task accomplished, Dean settled back and turned up the volume as he said, "You don't want me _brothering_ you, but I have to do all the clean up around here."

"I got-"

"So help me, Sam, if you say _I got shot,_ I may punch you."

"No you won't."

Dean didn't have to take his eyes off the tv to know his brother was smiling. He could hear the smile in Sam's voice. He tried to hide his own smile as he played along and asked, "Why not?"

"Because I got shot." Sam was grinning now and sounded way more amused than anyone should sound considering he'd been shot.

Groaning, Dean didn't bother hiding his own smile this time. "This how it's gonna be, huh?"

"This is how it's gonna be."

"Great. I think I liked you better when you were sick and feverish."

Sam lifted a heavy hand and rubbed his forehead. He tilted his head slightly and said softly, "You probably won't have to wait long."

Dean decided he should have kept his mouth shut.

* * *

Considering he felt like crap, Sam thought it had been a pretty great day.

Dean was laughing at the inappropriate humor in the movie and seemed like a new man. The shadows under his eyes weren't gone and he still looked too pale, but some of the weight appeared to have lifted from his shoulders. He'd been eating, too. Not the way he usually ate, of course. As far as Sam could tell, there weren't any chips or candy among the stockpiled provisions on the table. Of course, he hadn't actually gotten off the couch to check.

He hadn't moved from the couch since the moment Dean had deposited him there four hours earlier.

Dean had _brothered_ him all day, ensuring he took his pills on time. Religiously checking for fever until Sam thought about just keeping the damned thermometer in his mouth continuously to save time. As overly enthusiastic as his brother was being, Sam wasn't even remotely annoyed. For one thing, he _hurt_ and it was a lot easier to let Dean reach for the bottle of ginger ale than to try to get it himself. And the ice packs that his brother seemed to materialize out of nowhere always appeared at the right time and felt amazing against the ache in his side. To say nothing of the heating pad that was easing the muscle tightness in his back. Dean had picked it up when he'd gone for the sandwiches and Sam had been so grateful he could've cried. He didn't, of course. But he could have.

Despite the pain, despite the fever, Sam felt at ease and relaxed. He'd eaten a third of his sandwich at Dean's pleading insistence, then allowed his brother to finish the rest of it. He wasn't in any hurry for the enjoyable mood to disappear, but he was feeling himself fade. Sam allowed his eyes to drift closed, hoping his brother wasn't going to...

"Sammy?"

….notice. _Damn it!_ "What?"

"You look...tired."

Dean sounded tentative, but he wasn't wrong. Sam sighed and opened his eyes. "Yeah. I'm tired."

"Ready to lay back down?"

"Yeah." Sam rubbed his eyes. "Bathroom first."

"Ok."

Dean was back in full _brothering_ mode and Sam appreciated it. Appreciated the capable hands that unburied him from ice packs and pillows and blankets and helped pull him to his feet when his stiff body protested. He appreciated the fact that his brother didn't crack a joke or tease him when it became completely obvious he wasn't going to be able to stay upright without help.

"You're burning up again."

"Not that bad."

"Bad enough," Dean muttered, adjusting his hold around Sam's back as they reached the bathroom door. "Be honest. You gonna-"

"I've got it." Sam put a hand against the door jamb and forced a smile. "Just stay close, ok?"

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and Sam got the feeling he wasn't intending to move. Which was fine. Sam kept a hand against the counter and cautiously nudged the door closed as far as he could before it ran into Dean's foot. Sam just sighed and left it where it was. At least the door was _mostly_ closed.

He was allowed privacy until Dean picked up on the fact that he was brushing his teeth. Then the door swung open and Sam didn't even bother protesting the hand that gripped his arm. He just finished brushing his teeth and allowed his brother to guide him back to the bed. He sank into the mattress and closed his eyes.

"Three hours. Then I gotta wake you up for the next round."

"You can try," Sam mumbled, but it came out more like, _you'n'tr._

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well I'll shove 'em down your sleeping throat if I need to. We gotta keep that fever down and deal with the pain before it gets too bad or you're going to find yourself back in a hospital bed whether you like it or not."

Sam didn't bother to respond.

He heard his brother move away. A moment later, a wrapped ice pack settled against his side and the blankets were pulled up over him. Sam smiled and Dean snickered.

"Don't get too used to the royal treatment, little brother. You're gonna owe me-"

"Yeah, I do," Sam said, seriously. He looked up at his brother. "I do owe you."

Dean sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. The dark shadows aged him and, childishly, Sam found himself wishing for a time machine or an alternate reality. Anything to give them a chance for a normal life. He hadn't wished for normal in a long time, but now he wished with all his heart that they had a life where getting shot was about as likely as winning the lottery.

"You don't owe me."

He nodded and whispered, "I do, though."

"Sam," Dean said, a tired smile turning up the corner of his mouth for a split second, "it's not about who owes who."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Sam nodded, feeling half-asleep and chilled to the bone.

Dean sighed again, pulling the blanket up. "Sam?"

"Hm?"

"Go to sleep."

Sam did.

* * *

 _Next morning_

"What're you thinking? You sure you don't wanna hang out in the luxury of this fine establishment for another day?"

"Let's go." Sam started shoving the blankets aside. They'd both managed a decent night's sleep, Dean looked a little better. Sam felt the best he'd felt so far, and he wanted to press his advantage while he had it.

Dean was there immediately to help and Sam kept his arm wrapped around the pillow as he was eased up into a sitting position. When he'd awakened, he'd considered taking a shower, but now he felt like maybe skipping that till later. They were going to be stuck in the car all day. No one to impress.

"How you doin'?"

Sam gave him a thumbs up.

"Yeah. I thought so." Dean patted him on the shoulder. "One minute. I'll grab your happy pills."

Nodding, Sam lowered his head and kept his arms around the pillow. Happy pills sounded wonderful. A cup of water appeared in front of him and he held out a hand expectantly for the pills. They were dropped into his hand and he swallowed them down with half the glass of water. A hand brushed against his forehead and he decided there was no point in fighting it.

"No fever right now." Dean stepped back, hands on his hips and in full doctor mode.

"I could have told you that," Sam muttered under his breath, amazed the dreaded thermometer hadn't made its reappearance.

His brother ignored him. "You need to eat something. Those are heavy duty antibiotics."

Sam sat there and allowed his brother tell him what to do and what to eat and how much he needed to drink. He felt better this morning, but still not up to going head to head with Dean. It was easier to do whatever Dean wanted. If his acquiescence made his brother happy, Sam couldn't tell because he was busy moving around the room, packing their gear up.

"You gonna want to get your jeans back on or you gonna go lookin' like a soccer mom in her sweat pants?" Dean was grinning as he held up Sam's jeans.

Sam rolled his eyes. "How about if I go lookin' like a guy who got shot?"

"I guess that'll work." Dean shrugged, shoving the jeans into one of their bags. "I'm gonna go take some of the stuff to the car. Sit tight?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Dean studied him for a bit longer, then nodded and started grabbing their gear. Sam finished the applesauce he'd been given and decided he was capable of getting to his feet and heading for the bathroom before his brother got back. He took the pillow with him. He wasn't fast enough to make it back to bed afterwards, because he heard familiar footsteps re-entering the room and a knock on the door as he was washing his hands.

"Sam?"

Opening the door, Sam said, "Right here."

"I told you to stay put." Dean analyzed him for a few seconds, then asked, "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." Sam took the jacket that Dean offered him and dropped the pillow on the bed.

For a moment, he thought Dean was going to change his mind about them leaving, but then he simply nodded, grabbed the rest of their stuff and followed him out the door. Setting the pace, Sam didn't care that he had a hand out on the wall as he walked. Dean didn't comment and stayed close until they got near the elevators. Then he walked ahead and hit the button.

By the time they got down to the car, Sam was breathless. Dean had the car door open and was staring at him. Evaluating.

"I'm fine," Sam said, as he got closer.

"Yeah, you look it, Mr. Slow as a Snail."

"Shut up." Sam smiled. He waved a hand and Dean backed up a little.

Dean caught him by the arm before he could sit down. "Wait."

Sam lost the smile and glared at his brother. "For what?"

"For this," Dean said, brandishing a pillow he'd pulled out from the back seat.

"Did you steal that?" Sam asked, half shocked and half amused.

Dean shook his head, looking offended. "I bought it."

The pillow was pressed into his hands and Sam didn't fight it because he was really happy to have a pillow again. He still peered at his brother suspiciously. "You bought it?"

"For cryin' out loud, Sam, it's a freakin' pillow. I have bought pillows before, you know? The Men of Letters had a limited linen supply."

Sam hugged the pillow and sank into the car, relieved to be off his feet. He looked back up at Dean. "I can't believe you bought a pillow."

"You look pretty happy about it," Dean said, closing the door with a grin.

Sam _was_ happy about it. He already knew the trip was going to be awful, but he still didn't want to stay. He just wanted to get back to the bunker and crawl into his own bed and forget everything that had happened the past few days. Already his mind was filled with what they were going to do about Lucifer and Cas and Amara.

"Sam?"

A hand smacked him on the shoulder. Sam looked over at him and asked, "What?"

"You're thinking too much. You're giving me a headache. Hug your pillow and take a nap."

"I just woke up."

"From a crappy night of not sleeping."

"I slept," Sam muttered, settling into the seat and pressing the pillow closer. Dean snorted and Sam wanted to ask him what had happened when he'd been out in the woods, but he still hesitated.

"You want breakfast?"

"I just had applesauce."

"That's not breakfast. That was just to get your pills down." Dean pulled into traffic and shot him an assessing glance.

Sam shrugged. "Whatever. I don't care. As long as I don't have to get out of this seat you can get whatever you want."

Dean seemed pacified by that and nodded. He started searching the area for something to eat and Sam's jaw dropped when they pulled into the driveway of-

"McDonald's?" Sam asked. "Seriously? We haven't eaten here in years. Last time we did you swore you'd never eat here again."

"It was a lousy burger, Sam." Dean sneered, pulling into the drive-through line. "I'm not getting a burger this time. What do you want?"

"Coffee." Sam punctuated his desire with a wide yawn.

Dean studied him for a second as they pulled another inch closer. "Fine. But you're getting something to eat too."

"I'm honestly not hungry."

"Yeah, I know. But you're gonna try to eat something anyway. I'm not gonna pull over every ten minutes the rest of the trip because you're hungry like when you were seven."

Sam snorted. "When did Dad _ever_ pull over every ten minutes because one of us was hungry?"

"Louisville." Dean shot Sam an indulgent smile. "You were starving all the time and fussy."

"Dude. I was not fussy!" Sam glared at him as Dean bumpered the car ahead of them as they inched toward the menu. "I was fifteen."

"Not the first time we went through Louisville. You were seven and you must have been going through a growth spurt or something because we fed you all the time-"

"You make it sound like I was a dog," Sam interrupted him, then braced a hand on the car door as Dean slammed the brakes on a bit enthusiastically as the car in front of them came up more quickly than he'd expected.

Dean grumbled about the wait and how it was supposed to be _fast food_ then continued as if Sam had never interrupted, "We fed you all the time but you never shut up. I am not lying. We got burgers and you ate an entire burger by yourself. Then we hit the road and ten minutes later you were in tears because you were so hungry-"

"I wasn't in tears-"

"-that you were going to _die_ if you didn't get something else to eat." Dean ignored him. "Dad stopped three more times before we got out of town because you pitched such a fit."

Sam wanted to keep arguing but he was enjoying how amused Dean was by the story. He didn't remember the situation at all, but it had obviously been bad enough for his brother to remember it all these years. So he just sat back and listened to Dean rant until they were finally up to the window. And then his jaw dropped as Dean ordered.

"You ordered pancakes?" Sam asked, staring at his brother.

Dean shot him a quick look. "Yeah. So?"

"I thought we were going to drive. How are you going to eat pancakes and drive?"

Dean looked confused. He shook his head and said, "I ordered the sandwich for me. I got the pancakes for you."

They pulled another inch forward and Sam couldn't help but smile. Dean didn't act like it was any big deal, but, even though he did like pancakes, Sam wasn't sure he'd ever tried to eat them in a moving car. But they _did_ sound good and he _was_ an adult so-

"If you get syrup on my Baby's upholstery, you will be responsible for cleaning it up," Dean said, and then they were at the window. He charmed the girl with his smile and witty chatter, then grinned when he presented the pancakes. "Here ya go."

"Thanks," Sam said, smiling as he accepted the tray. He hadn't wanted anything, but the pancakes did look good and smell good and maybe he _could_ try a little.

Dean set the cup carrier between them and Sam was grateful he'd gotten both of them large coffees because he felt like they were going to need it. Maybe later he would offer to drive. Or maybe not. Because Dean wasn't likely to agree to that no matter how much Sam told him he was fine. And he wasn't really sure he even _wanted_ to attempt to drive. He'd been in the car for less than fifteen minutes and he already knew this wasn't going to be an easy trip.

Concentrating on breakfast, Sam balanced the tray on the pillow on his lap and decided that, instead of pouring the syrup on the pancakes, he would cut the pancakes into bite sized pieces and dip them in the syrup. Because he really didn't want to have to clean syrup out of the upholstery. Dean chowed down on his sandwich and finished it by the time they were out of the main part of town and hit the two lane highway home.

Sam ate the first pancake and it tasted amazing. By the time he was starting the second one, though, he decided maybe he should stop while he was ahead. Carefully repacking the container, he set the bag next to him and reached for his coffee. Dean didn't comment on anything, but turned the radio on.

Despite the coffee, Sam found himself nodding off and, when Dean reached over to take the cup from him, he didn't fight it. Resting his head against the window, he pulled the pillow closer and was asleep a minute later.

tbc...

* * *

 **Good signs, right? They're headed home! Hope you enjoyed! more to come... story has grown from 10 chapters to 12. ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi! I know it's been a long time since I posted. Sorry! Been having a rough time lately and just have been struggling to concentrate on anything. Hoping I'm beginning to get back on track now, though. Sorry for the wait, hope you'll enjoy the chapter! :)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8**_

Dean smiled as he set the coffee cup back in the carrier. Sam was already sound asleep. He'd eaten some of his breakfast, so that was something anyway. Dean still didn't like that they were back on the road. He would have been more than happy to hole up at the decent hotel until Sam was feeling better. But he understood Sam's desire to be home. Dean wanted to be home too. His smile faded as he thought back on everything that had led them to this moment.

The desire to be home grew with every mile and Dean couldn't even pretend it wasn't because he wanted to be safely tucked behind the heavy, thick doors and protective warding that the bunker offered. No one could blame him for being a bit oversensitive right now. Maybe he was acting like a scared kid, but he'd watched his little brother get shot so he thought he was entitled.

Dean took another quick peek at Sam, then nudged the radio down just a touch. He focused on driving carefully and keeping his movements as smooth as possible so as not to disturb his brother's sleep. Today he felt ten times better than he had yesterday. Even though he was still a little unsteady and occasionally queasy, breakfast had settled ok and he felt stronger and more focused. Yesterday he'd been guiltily sneaking an occasional dose of the medication Sam had been given for the nausea and it must have helped.

Between the pills and the best night of sleep either of them had managed so far, Dean was declaring himself on the mend. He smiled, breathed a sigh of relief and settled more comfortably behind the wheel. Proud of himself for not leaning over to check Sam for fever every ten miles, Dean allowed his mind to drift.

They'd been on the road for a couple hours before Sam stirred. Noticing movement to his right, Dean slowed down and glanced over at his brother. Sam's face was twisted in a grimace and his hands that had fallen lax hours ago, tightened on the pillow again. It took a few minutes, then Sam pushed himself up from where he'd slumped against the door.

Dean watched him and could tell Sam wasn't feeling well. Not that Dean had expected the trip to be easy on him. Didn't mean he had to like it. Doing some mental calculations, he tried to remember when Sam could have the next dose of the good stuff. His brain was still working a bit slowly these days so he hadn't quite figured it out before Sam looked at him.

"Are we there yet?" Sam asked, managing a weak smile.

"Ha ha." Dean rolled his eyes, but quickly became serious. "How are you holding up?"

Sam rocked a hand back and forth and Dean started thinking contingency plans. The next town was forty miles away.

"I'm ok," Sam said, interrupting Dean's calculations again. "Really. I'm not comfortable. Not gonna lie. But I'm not ready to stop yet."

"Sam-"

"I'll tell you." Sam held his gaze and nodded. "I will. I'll tell you when I need to stop, ok?"

Dean studied him for another second. "We can stop anytime. I'm not in a hurry. Say the word and we pick a nice place and have a Netflix marathon of whatever you want. Next town is only forty miles."

Sam shook his head, checking his watch. "We haven't been on the road that long. Let's just keep going. When you stop for gas I'll get out and walk around a bit and see how it's going. Right now I'm ok."

"You look like you're running a fever again."

"Yeah. Feels like it," Sam acknowledged, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "It's to be expected. That's why they gave me the big gun antibiotics."

Dean didn't like it at all. He gripped the wheel and said, "I should've taken a look at it before we left."

"Why?" Sam smiled, resting his right arm against the window and looking a bit more comfortable. "We know it's infected. You took care of it last night. It'll keep til we get somewhere and I can change the bandage again."

"Take some Tylenol at least." Dean rifled around in the back seat.

"Will you watch the road?" Sam complained mildly, accepting the bottle of Tylenol when Dean handed it to him.

"I got it," Dean said, settling back and steadying the car. He listened to Sam shake the pills out. "You didn't sleep very long."

"You thought I would?" Sam asked, sounding amused. "I'm cramped in a car with a bullet hole in my side. I may be tired, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna be able to sleep all the time."

Dean tapped a finger on the steering wheel, not liking it. Not liking any of it. But what choice did he have? So he just kept driving for another twenty minutes until he did have to stop for gas. Before fueling up, he pried his brother out of the car and made sure he wasn't going to fall over on the way to the bathroom. For some reason Sam balked at carrying the pillow with him and Dean was grinning when he started gassing up the car.

Sam hadn't reappeared by the time he'd finished and Dean needed to make a pit stop of his own and pick up more coffee anyway so he headed inside. Finding the restrooms, he ran into Sam as he was leaving and Dean felt a little better seeing he was standing up and not looking any worse for the wear. Not that he looked great. Hunched over slightly, hair an unkempt mess, eyes shadowed and skin too pale, he didn't look like he should be walking around a convenience store. With the wrinkled jacket and sweatpants, he looked like a haggard hobo and Dean smiled in spite of everything.

"Gonna grab water. Want anything else?" Sam asked, still holding a hand to his side.

"Coffee. More coffee."

"Got it." Sam nodded and walked away.

Once they'd stocked up on coffee, water, and a few bags of candy and chips because Dean needed something to munch on, they hit the road again.

* * *

Sam listened to Dean singing along with the radio and doing his typical awful job of it. Obviously Dean thought he was still asleep or he wouldn't have been singing as loudly as he was. Sam tried not to smile and didn't move. He was settled comfortably, more or less, with the pillow against the window and his arms wrapped around himself.

Dean had offered his own jacket as a blanket and Sam had accepted because, despite the fact Dean had the heat up, he was still freezing. Dean was probably glad to lose the jacket, Sam thought, considering he had to be sweating in the overheated car.

They'd hit another drive through for lunch. Taken a pit stop for gas and more coffee after and somewhere after that, Sam had fallen asleep again. He stole a peek at the windshield and saw that the sky was still bright although he knew it had to be getting close to evening. They'd been driving about nine hours now and he knew they still had a good eleven or twelve hours to go. Squeezing his eyes closed, he wished they didn't have so far to go. He didn't want to stop, but he knew he couldn't keep going.

About to say something to his brother, Sam felt the car slowing down. He kept his eyes closed because he was honestly too tired to care what Dean was doing at the moment. Maybe he needed more coffee. Sam decided he'd wait until Dean stopped the car and then he'd find out where they were and if there was a decent motel nearby.

"Sam." Dean's voice startled him a few moments later.

Sam opened his eyes and shifted his head, trying not to move any other muscles. Dean was looking at him and the concern was evident. So was the exhaustion. Dean's eyes were underlined in dark circles and he looked sick again. Suddenly, Sam realized they needed to stop for _both_ their sakes.

Dean studied him for a second, then said, "I'm gettin' us a room. You need to lay down."

Nodding, Sam didn't bother to reply or to move. It looked like his lack of response bothered Dean, but he didn't say anything. He just got out of the car and walked toward the office. Sam lifted his head and saw that they were at another nice hotel. A really nice hotel; nicer even than the first. The kind they never stayed in. The kind where Dean was probably going to be looked down upon for his frayed jeans and work boots.

Sam shifted more and realized that Dean had at some point covered him up with his flannel as well as the jacket. Sam kept them wrapped around himself, chilled to the bone despite all the layers. A few moments passed then Dean came strolling back out and, sure enough, he looked annoyed so Sam guessed he'd probably been insulted by the desk clerk. Resigned to the fact they would be looking for another place to stay, Sam pushed himself the rest of the way up as Dean got into the car.

"Their wi-fi is out," Dean said, sounding crabby as he started the up the car.

Sam stared at him and frowned. "What?"

"Their wi-fi is out," Dean repeated, shooting him a quick glance. "Sucks. No Netflix tonight. Stuck with whatever's on cable. They're hoping to have it back up tomorrow but-"

"We're staying?" Sam asked, confused.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why? I mean, the internet thing sucks, but we don't need it right now cuz we are not taking another case until you're better and the-"

"We're staying here?"

"Dude, your brain burn up?" Dean looked amused now as he parked the car in front of a side door. He turned the car off and said, "Yeah we're stayin' here."  
Sam looked from the hotel to his brother. "It's...expensive."

"Yeah well sometimes even we get to indulge in some luxury." Dean seemed positively giddy as he pushed his door open to get out. "Bet they have mints on the pillows!"

"You don't even like-" Sam broke off as Dean slammed the car door, "-mints."

His door opened a second later and Dean was right there pulling his jacket and flannel off of Sam and repositioning the pillow. "Hold onto that. Let's get you inside and I'll come back for the rest of the stuff."

Sam didn't bother to argue or suggest an alternate plan because he knew better. And he didn't feel up to doing anything but exactly what Dean told him to do. He didn't even really feel up to doing that, but the thought of a soft mattress and a lot of blankets was all the motivation he needed.

Since the last time they'd stopped, though, he'd obviously taken something of a turn for the worse because last time he'd been able to walk on his own. This time he wasn't even ashamed of the fact that he needed Dean's support and he didn't even care that he was holding the pillow as they walked.

Dean didn't say anything, just held onto him and guided him into the hotel. They didn't have to wait long for the elevator and Sam was in too much pain to pay any attention to the family that was getting out of the elevator or the young woman in a business suit who joined them on their way up. By the time they were on the fourth floor, Sam didn't care about much of anything.

"Almost there, Sammy," Dean said softly, his grip tightening. "You're doing great. I know...I know, hang on. Soft bed coming up."

Sam's breathing was labored and he was struggling to put one foot in front of the other by the time Dean pointed at a door and said it was theirs. Leaning against his brother more heavily, it felt like forever before Dean got the door unlocked and they could walk inside. Earlier, Sam had contemplated a shower. Now he contemplated curling up on the floor.

"Nope, nope, not yet," Dean said, pulling him up as he started to sag. "Bed. Right there."

He dropped heavily onto the edge of the first bed and even the pillow pressed against his side wasn't doing anything for the pain now. Dean held onto his shoulder as Sam bent forward, muffling a groan as best he could.

Dean's other hand was on the back of his neck and it felt like ice. Sam heard Dean swearing. "You're burning up."

 _Tell me something I don't already know_ , Sam thought to himself because saying it aloud was too much trouble.

"Alright, let's get you outta your jacket and then you can take the meds and lay down, ok? How's that sound?" Dean was basically talking to himself.

Sam let him do whatever he wanted because everything was hazy by now and he was just glad Dean knew what he was doing. Pills were placed in his hand and then a cup was pressed to his lips and Dean made him drink half the cup before he was satisfied. Sam would have drank more because it tasted amazing and he was so thirsty, but he was also tired and that won out over everything else.

His head hit the pillow and Sam closed his eyes, waiting for the blankets to appear. Instead, he felt a cool washcloth against his eyes and then Dean's hands were lifting his shirt and he knew he was going to check the wound. Sam didn't hold back the moan this time as Dean peeled back the tape.

"I know, I'm sorry," Dean was talking softly, his hands gentle. "Just need to...damnit."

"What?" Sam asked, voice hoarse. He pushed the washcloth off his eyes and squinted at his brother.

Dean looked up, apparently surprised that Sam was still aware enough to say anything. He frowned. "Nothing exactly. It just doesn't look great."

"It's a bullet hole," Sam muttered, pulling the washcloth down over his eyes again. "Not supposed to look great. Stitches ok?"

"Yeah."

"Then what?"

"It's really red."

"It was red before."

"Not this red."

Sam sighed. He wasn't surprised. He didn't need to look at it to know Dean was telling the truth. It _felt_ red if that were even possible. It felt hot and it felt infected and Sam really wished Dean would stop messing with it.

"Sam, I gotta go get the stuff from the car," Dean said, smoothing the bandage back over the wound. He pulled the blanket up. "Stay there ok? It'll just take me a couple minutes. Then I'll clean it and get a fresh bandage on it and you can get some sleep, ok?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered.

"Ok." Dean patted his shoulder and then he was gone.

Sam heard the door close quietly behind him and hoped he was going to hurry.

* * *

Dean took the steps rather than wait for the elevator on the way down. He jogged through the hall back to the side door even though his ribs screamed in protest at the jarring movement. He pressed a hand to his chest and kept going. A little pain and shortness of breath was a sacrifice he was willing to make in order to get him back to his brother faster.

Once at the car, he made short work of grabbing everything important. He could come back later or tomorrow for the rest of it if he needed to. Right now, his only priority was getting everything they would need right away.

Locking the car, he got back inside the hotel in time to snag the elevator from a couple young women in nice dresses who smiled as they held the door for him. He returned their smiles, but didn't even consider asking for their numbers or attempting to follow them as they left the hotel.

He tapped his finger impatiently on the button until the elevator started moving. There were so many things going through his head right now that he wasn't sure where he should even start. He'd already dosed Sam up with the antibiotics, pain killer and some more Tylenol. But if that fever didn't start to come down, he was thinking they were gonna be heading to the nearest hospital. Maybe before the evening was out.

Rushing down the hall, he had to slow almost immediately. The gear was heavy and not helping his breathing or the pain. Dean huffed and puffed and walked as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast at all. He'd lose a race to an eighty year old man. It annoyed him. And then he thought about the fact he was lucky to be walking at all; lucky to be alive. The thought sent a chill through him.

 _What if they hadn't brought me back?_

Dean stumbled, almost dropping the gear as he put a hand out against the wall to steady himself. His stomach threatened to turn itself inside out as his mind painted a terrifying picture of Sam walking into that clinic, taking out the werewolf, only to discover Dean was already dead. He shook his head, shook himself out of the nightmarish thought. Couldn't think like that. Couldn't play the _what if_ game.

And what he absolutely could _never_ do was let Sam know what he'd done.

Swallowing back the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dean decided he'd help himself to one of the pills Sam had been given for nausea.

A little steadier, Dean straightened and walked the rest of the way to their room; thoughts - and worries - returning to his brother's condition. He dropped the key card twice before he got the door unlocked. His hands were shaking and he wasn't sure if it were nerves or the rather extreme amount of caffeine he'd consumed. It wasn't good for him, he knew. He could feel it in the way his heart was skipping a bit from time to time and the way he felt hyper like he hadn't since he'd been a kid high on Pixie Sticks.

"I'm back," he said, heart calming when he saw Sam was where he'd left him and not showing any signs of new distress or discomfort.

Sam gave him a thumbs up, but didn't say anything.

Locking the door behind him, Dean dropped their gear next to the couch and dug for the first aid kit. Fifteen minutes and a freshly dressed wound later, he had tucked his sound asleep brother under the covers. Dean sat there for a couple minutes, considered unpacking and maybe taking a shower, and then considered how good a nap would be instead. Before he went to bed, though, he dug out the nausea medication and popped one with a cautious sip of water. That mission accomplished, he stumbled back to the bed.

He flopped down face first, barely managing to bite back a hiss of pain when the thoughtless move sent a red hot poker through his chest. Gingerly shifting off his stomach, Dean rolled to his good side, pressing his hand to his ribs. It took several minutes for him to find a semi-comfortable position and a few more minutes struggling to relax his mind. He regretting not turning the light off before he hit the bed, but he wasn't moving again anytime soon.

* * *

When Dean woke up from his impromptu nap, he was shocked to find the room lit only by the pale wash of light from the tv. Pushing himself upright, he blinked at the clock and found that it was just after midnight. Shifting, he caught sight of Sam sitting on the couch.

"Hey," Dean said, voice like gravel. He pushed himself to his feet. "Why're you up?"

Sam looked up at him and smiled. "Did you really expect me to sleep all night? I fell asleep at like six."

"Yeah, well you're sick. You're supposed to sleep a lot."

"Slept in the car. Besides I'm not sick. I got shot. Totally different." Sam turned his attention back to the tv. "Why're you awake?"

Dean yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "I dunno. Sensed a disturbance in the Force I guess."

"What?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked, crossing the room to try to get a better look for himself.

"Fine. Not great."

"Still running a fever?" He couldn't tell in the dim light if Sam's face were still flushed or not.

"Think so." Sam shrugged, looking up at him. "Took some Tylenol when I got up."

Checking his watch, Dean asked, "How long?"

"Hour. Maybe. I don't know."

"You got anything to-"

Sam held up a bottle of Gatorade in answer to Dean's unfinished question.

"Feel like eating?" Dean looked at the pile of stuff he'd brought in and never unpacked. The nausea medication must have worked, considering his stomach was growling at the thought of food. "I'd offer you a popsicle but I think we left them behind."

"They'd have melted anyway. It's ok. I don't feel as sick right now."

"Applesauce?" Dean offered, staring at the bags and trying to remember what else he'd bought. "Soup?"

"Actually?" Sam flipped on the light next to the couch. "I could go for Chinese."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Chinese."

"Unless you can find a Thai place. I didn't see one listed." Sam shrugged, tossing Dean the stack of takeout menus from the end table next to him. The menus hit the floor and Sam shot him a quick smile. "Sorry."

Dean rolled his eyes, picked the menus up and started looking through them. "I can't believe you want Chinese."

"I'm hungry." Sam shrugged. "I didn't eat much today. Why? You want a pizza?"

His stomach growled again and Dean decided he didn't care what they ate so long as it was delivered in less than thirty minutes. Finding the nearest Chinese restaurant, he took his brother's order which consisted of plain rice and a fortune cookie, _please._ Deciding it was better than nothing in that at least Sam was showing signs of having an appetite again, he ordered what Sam requested and then ordered extra egg rolls with his own meal because he had a feeling someone who only wanted plain rice and a fortune cookie, _please,_ was going to decide he wanted an egg roll, too.

Mission accomplished, Dean considered unpacking some of their gear, then decided not to bother. It was the middle of the night, the food would be there shortly and he just didn't care. So he dropped onto the couch next to Sam and tried to pay attention to whatever movie his brother was in the middle of at the moment. By the time there was a knock at the door, Dean still didn't have a clue what the movie was about. Of course, the fact that his overly intellectual brother had decided on something in a foreign language didn't help. He wasn't up to subtitles at the moment.

Spreading their dinner on the coffee table in front of them, Dean said, "I need something less deep if I'm going to sit here and watch it while I try to eat noodles. You know I can't eat noodles and watch subtitles."

Sam laughed, wrapping his arm around the pillow he had against his stomach. "You can have the remote. I don't even have a clue what this is."

"Why were you watching it then?" Dean asked, biting into an egg roll. He started flipping channels.

"I don't know. It was easier than trying to find something else I guess." It sounded like even explaining it had required more energy than Sam had at the moment.

Dean kept flipping through the channels as he unpacked the rest of the food and handed Sam his container of rice. "You sure you don't want any of this chicken?"

"Nah. I'm good for now. But I will take an egg roll."

Grinning, Dean handed him one and knew he'd chosen wisely by ordering extras. He went around the channels three times before settling on some old Western. Clint Eastwood would always work and so would John Wayne. Whatever this was, it lacked something in star power, but there were horses and guns and rowdy fights so he couldn't complain.

He settled back and dove into his food. It didn't taste as good as he'd hoped, but it was food and it did something to settle his stomach. Dean wanted a beer, but knew he probably shouldn't. For one thing, he was still feeling sick enough that a beer probably would throw him over the edge. For another thing, he figured he should probably have all of his faculties about him depending on how the evening went.

Stealing a quick peek at his brother, Dean had to admit Sam looked ok. Not great and not a whole lot better than he had earlier, but the sleep had obviously done him some good. And he was eating. Taking that as a good sign, Dean relaxed a bit more. The only real concern he had was the worry over the infection. He'd cleaned the wound and Sam was taking his antibiotics on schedule, but he'd still been running a fever earlier. Dean hoped another night's sleep in a decent bed would help both of them.

* * *

He wasn't sure which of them fell asleep first, but Sam was the one who woke up to the sounds of his brother moaning in his sleep. It took a few seconds for him to gather his thoughts and truly wake up. Ignoring the infomercial in the background, he pushed himself upright on the couch, sending rice and noodles onto the floor as he jostled the containers they'd left sitting between them.

"Dean?" He cleared his throat, taking the time to move the rest of the take-out onto the coffee table before he had a bigger mess to clean up. "Dean, hey, wake up."  
Scooting closer, Sam shook his shoulder, taking in the sheen of sweat on his brother's face as his head rocked back and forth against the cushions. Dean had slumped sideways in his sleep and was slumping even further over as Sam watched. Catching his shoulder, Sam held him steady, giving him another gentle shake.

Relieved when his eyes slid opened, Sam cleared his throat, struggling to keep Dean from falling over. Holding his brother up like this was straining his side and Sam knew he couldn't hold on much longer. "Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't sound like he was sure. He blinked a few times, then finally made eye contact. Frowning, Dean asked, "You ok?"

 _Not really, but that's not the point right now,_ Sam thought to himself. Dean had a hand on the couch cushion and was pushing himself upright a pinch more which alleviated some of the strain. Sam asked, "Are you okay? It sounded like you were hurting."

Something changed in Dean's eyes and Sam knew he'd been having a nightmare. Dean wouldn't be likely to share details; not that he needed them. Sam could easily guess what Dean's nightmare had been about.

"You don't look good," Dean said, sitting upright and losing the sleepy look of confusion. He was wide awake and in assessment mode.

Sam sighed and let himself fall back against the cushion. There was little point in denying it, so he said, "Not feeling too good."

"You need to be in bed."

"I would be ok with that." Sam smiled. Sitting up for awhile had been good, but now he was more than ready to lay down.

Dean nodded and moved around, rearranging the trash and leftovers. He stood up and crossed the room a moment later, returning with a pill bottle. Sam stared up at him as Dean gave him a narrow-eyed stare. Assessing. And then he had his hand against Sam's forehead and Sam rolled his eyes, but knew better than to fight about it.

"It's not that bad."

"It's higher than it was," Dean declared without bothering to confirm his assertion with the thermometer.

Maybe it was higher. Sam rubbed at the throbbing headache and couldn't tell if his skin felt warmer or not, but he didn't doubt his brother's assessment. He took the pills when Dean handed them to him and didn't argue when he got a helping hand to stand up. Not feeling anywhere near as bad as he'd felt earlier, he still knew he had a long way to go. The trip back to the bed was enough to wipe him out and he started drifting off to sleep as soon as he was flat on the bed.

Before he gave in to the pull of sleep, he forced his eyes open again and asked, "You know I'm ok, right?"

Dean nodded, but there was no conviction in his eyes.

"I'm sore, but I'm going to be fine." Sam forced himself to keep his eyes open. He wanted to sleep, but he needed to make sure Dean understood. That he _believed._

"I know, Sam. Ok? I know." Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It's just been...a rough few days. Get some sleep, ok?"

Sam nodded, not quite content with Dean's answer, but knowing he wasn't going to get anything else from him right now. He whispered, "You too. Please."

This time he got a smile. Brief as it may have been, Dean had smiled and now he was yawning. He said, "I'm literally going to turn the tv off and fall into bed. That make you happy?'

"Yeah." Sam fought to keep his eyes open.

He watched as Dean did exactly what he said he would do. Not bothering to change his clothes or brush his teeth, Dean slowly eased onto the other bed and pulled the covers up. Once his breathing evened out, Sam was able to relax and followed his brother into sleep without any hesitation.

* * *

Dean was munching on something and the coffee was brewing when Sam stepped out of the bathroom the next morning. Taking a shower hadn't been easy, but he felt more alive today and ready to hit the road. He was dressed, shaved and not even favoring his side as much, but Dean stopped chewing and watched him cross the room.

"Stop staring at me," Sam complained, rolling his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, waving a hand. But at least he went back to eating.

Sam sat down in the chair opposite him without a groan of pain. Mostly because he was trying very hard not to let his brother know that he was still in pain. He'd been shot. What was Dean expecting anyway? Sam reached for a breakfast pastry from the overloaded plate Dean had apparently procured at the buffet downstairs.

"Should take your meds."

"Can I eat my breakfast first?" Sam held up the pastry.

"Fine."

Sam laughed. "Dude, trust me, I'm gonna take the meds. But right now, I'm starving."

"Yeah, well don't eat all the pastries. I haven't gotten to them yet," Dean said, holding up what must have been some kind of breakfast burrito. "And how bad's the pain today?

"It's not that bad."

"How. Bad. Is. The. Pain. Today?" Dean asked with exaggerated pauses between each word.

"Ten. Out. Of. Ten." Sam answered in kind, amused to see Dean's uncertain expression. Sam grinned. "If we're talking about my pain in the ass brother, that is. If we're talking about where I got shot, it's not bad. Like a four."

Dean was glaring at him and reaching for one of the pastries. "More like a six."

"Whatever." Sam wasn't interested in continuing the battle. "It's not that bad. We heading out after you finish eating everything in sight?"

"I don't know."

Figuring Dean's hesitation was because of him, Sam said, "I think we should go. Sleep in our own beds tonight."

"It's still a long trip and after yesterday-"

"Yesterday was yesterday. I feel better today. Let's just get home."

Dean narrowed his eyes, sizing him up. Sam finished eating the pastry and poured himself a cup of coffee while he waited for the inspection to conclude. After a minute, Dean sighed and Sam knew he was relenting.

"I still say we can stay here. It's a decent place." Dean shrugged. "Give you the chance to rest up a bit more. Sitting in the car all day isn't good for you. You just got shot-"

"Yes. I know. I was there." Sam shook his head. "Seriously. It's ok. I'll take the pills and if we need to, we'll stop. I don't think I'm running a fever...get your sticky hand away from my face!"

Sam dodged and Dean settled back in his chair, licking frosting off his fingers with a smug expression on his face. Once he felt safe from big brother's hand, Sam straightened. "It's not the first time one of us has been uncomfortable in the car. Won't be the last."

"You got shot."

Dean wouldn't let it go and Sam wasn't sure if he were doing it just to be a pain in the butt or if he was still that freaked out over what happened. Either way, Sam wanted to put an end to it. He shook his head and said, "It's not the first time I've been shot, Dean."

It didn't look like his words made Dean feel much better, but he nodded slowly. Finishing up his own coffee, Dean said, "Alright. You finish your breakfast and take the meds. I'll pack us up."

"Be my guest." Sam settled back in the chair with a smile. "I shouldn't have to be on cleanup duty. I got shot."

A wadded up napkin bounced off the back of his head and Sam laughed.

tbc...

* * *

 **Things are looking up!**

 **Thanks for reading! Not planning for the next chapter to take quite so long to post. ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello! Ok guys...I want you to know that all your reviews and kind, encouraging words meant the world to me! :D I appreciate all the support and love hearing from you! I wish I'd had the time to thank you each personally for your reviews to chapter 8 but life has been incredibly hectic. :) I'm doing better this week but still struggling to focus. I wanted to thank you all for your reviews, but also wanted to get this chapter posted. Hope you don't mind! I'm going to be super busy the next two weekends so it may be a pinch longer than usual for chapter 10 (although who knows maybe it won't be such a struggle haha!).**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you again SO much!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 9**_

After Sam threatened to leave him at the next gas station and start hitchhiking home, Dean decided maybe he should shut up.

He'd been nagging. He freely admitted it. He'd been nagging. What's more, he'd been an annoying, smothering, crazy person. Yeah. He'd basically been _brothering_ Sam for the past five hours non-stop. Dean tried to put himself in his brother's shoes and realized if he were in Sam's place, he probably would have punched him in the teeth by now.

Stealing yet another quick peek at his brother, this time to see how pissed he was instead of if he were in pain, Dean quickly looked away. Because Sam was still pissed. Probably a 10 out of 10 in fact.

"Stop staring at me or I swear I'm going to punch you in the face!"

 _Maybe an 11 out of 10._ Dean swallowed and studiously kept his eyes on the road ahead as he said, "I'm not staring. Just wondering...if...you could pass me the bag of chips."

To his surprise, Sam laughed. The bag of potato chips smacked him in the side of his face. Dean smirked and grabbed the bag.

For another ten minutes, the car was silent except for the radio and his munching. Peace had been restored and Dean was honestly, finally, thankfully beginning to relax. Sam seemed fine. He was moving easier and, while he was still favoring his side, he didn't look like he was hurting that much now. From what Dean could tell, he wasn't running a fever anymore either. Although he'd been quite adamant that Dean keep his hands to himself, so he couldn't be sure.

Dean thought he should earn a little understanding considering he'd thought his brother was dead. Of course, he wasn't admitting that to Sam. Dean still couldn't believe that Sam hadn't pressed for more details on what had happened after Dean had left him in the cabin. He was beyond grateful that Sam seemed to have either forgotten (unlikely) or just deemed it unnecessary to pursue so far (more likely). Either way, Dean wasn't bringing it up.

"You know, I don't even remember the first time," Sam said, breaking the silence.

"What are you talking about?" Dean hoped he wouldn't get into trouble for looking at his brother this time. Sam had started the conversation. So he shot him a quick, absolutely _non-assessing_ glance.

"The first time I got shot." Sam met his eyes and he was obviously taking this very seriously. He was frowning and expending precious brain cells on a topic Dean would rather have skipped over completely. "I can't remember-"

"Good. Does it matter?" Dean tried his best not to sound as grumpy as he felt. Comparing scars was fine sometimes, but right now? Right now he'd have preferred to not bring that up.

"No. It doesn't matter."

"Well ok then. Thanks for that."

Sam sighed. Then he asked, "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you remember the first time you got shot?"

"Oh, you mean that time _you_ shot me. In. The. Ass?" Dean cast caution to the wind and stared his brother down. " _That_ time?"

It was _oh so_ gratifying to see the blush creep up to Sam's ears. Even after all this time. Dean grinned and kept going, "Was that what you meant? _That_ time? You did say the first time I got shot, right? That time _you_ shot me-"

"Yes! Fine. Alright. Never mind." Sam shook his head, folding his arms over his chest and clearly deciding to sulk rather than engage in any further conversation.

Dean wasn't about to let him off that easy. "How old were you anyway? Like...I don't know, maybe six?"

"Dean-"

"No, no, you were a little older." Dean was grinning at his brother's protests and didn't stop. "You were like nine, right? Yeah, must have been nine. Cuz you sure knew more about gun safety-"

"Seriously. Stop."

Dean seriously didn't stop. "How old were you, Sammy?"

"Dean."

"Sam?"

Sam looked away, but Dean could see the hint of a smile that Sam didn't want him to see.

Dean said, "Come on. Help me out. I'm having a little trouble remembering how old you were when you-"

"I was thirteen when I shot you in the ass," Sam blurted out, patience clearly worn through. "Ok? Happy now? If I'd know what a pain in the _ass_ you were going to be about it for the rest of my life, I'd have shot you somewhere more important."

Dean laughed and gave Sam his most smug look.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It was your fault anyway."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, Sammy."

"It was a graze. You're such a baby about it."

"You shot me in the ass. It hurt." Dean couldn't help but grin.

It _had_ hurt. And it hadn't been funny at the time. It had been pretty danged embarrassing actually. Especially when he'd had to endure his little brother putting four stitches in his left butt cheek. Of course, he hadn't been nearly as embarrassed as Sam had been. Which was why it quickly became funny to him and never ceased to give him something to harass Sam about when opportunity struck.

And, after almost two decades, it appeared that Sam was finally beginning to appreciate the humor in it.

"I can't believe you didn't tell Dad what happened," Sam said, looking over at Dean with a smile.

"I can't believe you managed to keep your big mouth shut about it!"

Even after all this time, that still stood out to him as a minor miracle. Or a major one considering the way Sam hadn't exactly learned how to keep his big mouth shut until he was a little older. At which time he started keeping his mouth shut all the time.

Sam's eyes widened. "I wasn't gonna tell Dad I shot you in the butt. He'd've killed me."

"I'm not gonna lie. I'm really glad he wasn't around," Dean said, shaking his head. "Although it wasn't easy keeping the secret when he came back and I still couldn't sit without being in agony."

"Good thing we had the car by then so he didn't have to watch you squirming the entire trip. He'd've known something was up then."

Dean nodded. It was amazing Dad hadn't pursued the topic and demanded answers. He was glad he hadn't though, because Sam was right. Dad probably would've wrung Sam's neck. And then he'd have wrung _Dean's_ neck because it had been his fault that Sam had had the gun in the first place.

"For as many secrets as he kept from us, I guess we had a few we kept from him," Sam said, voice thoughtful.

"Yeah we did, didn't we?" Dean grinned again. "Like the first time you got drunk."

"That was an accident!"

Dean frowned, then realized what Sam was talking about. "Ok, yeah, the root beer float thing _was_ an accident. I'll give you that. And he knew about that anyway. But the first time you got drunk on purpose, well more or less on purpose, that we kept a secret."

"I don't know how we managed it." Sam shook his head. "He wasn't even gone that time."

"Yeah, but he was distracted. With a hunt. I can't remember what he was after that time."

"Me neither."

"I told him you had the flu."

"You gotta wonder if he knew. He must have known, don't you think?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. He only paid attention to us when he really needed to." Dean couldn't help but feel a hint of bitterness. He hadn't seen it at the time, but with the passing years, he had gained a whole new perspective on his father and saw him in a new light. Both good and bad.

"He did the best he could," Sam said, interrupting his thoughts.

Dean glanced at him. He was probably always going to be a little surprised to hear stuff like that coming from his brother. The years had given them both perspective, and Sam had come a long way in accepting Dad's faults and reflecting on the things he'd done right. Or at least the things he'd _tried_ to do right.

"Yeah, he did." Dean nodded. Even 10 years ago he couldn't have imagined having this conversation with his brother.

"Do you remember the first time you got drunk?"

Dean frowned, thinking back. "No. I honestly don't."

Sam shifted in his seat. "You started too young."

Shrugging, Dean adjusted the visor against the sun.

"We started everything too young," Sam added.

Dean knew he was right. But he didn't necessarily want to go down that path. They'd had enough dark and serious in the past few days. So he grinned and said, "Speaking of starting young...first kiss."

Sam groaned. "Oh, we are so not going there."

"Oh, we _so_ are." Dean grinned. "I can't believe we haven't ever talked about this."

"There's a good reason we haven't talked about this."

"Let's see if I can guess-"

"Please don't-" Sam honest to goodness whined.

"Was it Lacy?"

"No."

Dean slapped his hand away when Sam started reaching for the radio dial. "Don't even try that. You've been sulking at me for a hundred miles."

"And you think dredging up embarrassing memories is going to make me _not_ sulk at you?"

"So your first kiss _was_ embarrassing?" Dean grinned. Beyond pleased with himself for finding a topic of conversation guaranteed to provoke his brother, he wasn't planning to stop any time soon.

"Who says mine was embarrassing?"

"It wasn't?"

"Yours was?" This time Sam was the one grinning.

"No." Dean said too quickly. He felt his ears growing warm.

"It was, wasn't it?"

 _Damnit!_ Dean hadn't wanted to give Sam an opening, but he had. He totally had. And it wasn't even like his first kiss had been that embarrassing. But with Sam snickering, Dean kept feeling his ears getting warmer and warmer.

"Spill. Who was it?"

"I asked you first."

Sam huffed. "You're an idiot."

"Who was it?" Dean fought to keep the floor. "Lily? That cute little chick with the bouncy curls-"

"No. And that was Jojo."

"Jojo had the curls?"

"Yeah."

"Then who was Lily?"

"Are you talking about Lily Patterson?"

"I don't know. Are we? I'm trying to figure out if it was that girl-"

"Which girl?"

"The one with the bouncy curls."

"I told you. That was Jojo."

Dean frowned, trying to remember. "Jojo had the curls. Did she have braces?"

"That was Olivia."

"Ah. Yes. Olivia." Dean smiled, remembering. Braces or not, Olivia had been hot. He frowned again, though. "But which one was Lily?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. Lily Patterson is the only Lily that I remember. She was the one who lived around the corner from us when we had that downstairs apartment. I don't even remember what city we were living in that time."

Dean wracked his brain. There had been many downstairs apartments; upstairs ones too. He asked, "You talking about the apartment where the sink leaked or the one where the toilet leaked?"

"I'm talking about the one with the orange walls. The one that was actually pretty nice. Despite the orange walls."

The light suddenly dawned and Dean looked at his brother. " _That_ Lily?"

"You remember her?"

"She had the rat-"

"Chihuahua."

Dean shuddered. "Ugly little monster. Dude! _That_ Lily? You were like in second grade. You kissed a girl in second grade?"

Sam huffed. Again. "I did not. I already _told_ you it wasn't Lily."

"I thought it wasn't Jojo."

"It wasn't her either!" Sam sounded exasperated.

"It was Renee what's-her-face, wasn't it? You spent a lot of time in the library with her."

"I spent a lot of time in the library all the time."

"Yes you did." Dean couldn't deny it. "So it was that chick in eleventh grade right? You had the hots for her. Can't remember her name but-"

" _You_ wanted to sleep with her." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes I did." Dean grinned. "But I didn't because you had a crush on her."

"Didn't stop you from goin' at it with my prom date," Sam said mildly.

Dean shot him a glance. "Thought that was a topic we weren't bringing up again."

"Add it to the list."

"You know I'm never going to stop until you tell me," Dean said, grinning. "Who was it?"

"Amy."

"Amy who?"

Sam looked at him briefly, then went back to staring out the windshield as he said, "Amy was the Kitsune."

And just like that, the mood took a turn for the worse. Dean didn't need clarification. He remembered Amy Pond. He remembered killing her and he couldn't forget the look in her kid's eyes after he'd done it. Wondering where the kid was now didn't seem like a good train of thought, so he just nodded. And then he did a little math.

"Wait. Amy? Seriously? You were-"

"Fifteen."

"You little player!" Dean teased. "I had no idea you were kissing girls at such a tender age."

"Girl. It was _one_ girl, Dean."

"What about your first time...you know." Dean waved a hand and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yeah. We're talkin' firsts. Who was your first?"

"You're a pain in the butt, you know that?"

"You've been telling me that for, oh you know, all of our lives."

Sam sighed heavily in that way that told Dean he was about to win. Again. He settled back in his seat and grinned some more.

Rolling his eyes, Sam said, "It was this girl I met second semester."

"Dude? Seriously? You lasted till college?"

"Yeah, well some of us weren't quite so easy at the tender age of whatever you were your first time. Anyway, I'd seen her around before then, but-"

"You didn't get up the nerve to ask her out till then. Chicken."

"Shut up."

"Go on," Dean urged.

"What more do you want?" Sam's eyes widened. "You're not getting any more details than that."

"What was her name? You gotta give me that at least. This is something I need to-"

"Jess."

Dean froze. Sam was staring out the window, not looking at him.

After a long minute, Dean repeated, "Jess?"

Sam nodded. Dean didn't know what to say. At all. He hadn't expected that answer. Not in a million years. But now that he knew, it sort of made sense. It was both endearing and devastating at the same time.

"I loved her," Sam said, almost to himself, but his head tilted toward Dean so he knew he was talking to him.

"I know you did."

"So what about you?" Sam asked softly.

Dean frowned, "What about me?"

"Who was your first? Katie Finley?"

"Katie." Dean smiled, glad that Sam wasn't staying on the topic of Jess. He felt bad for, however inadvertently, bringing the still painful topic up. "I haven't thought about Katie forever. What was that? Sixth grade?"

"Fifth. I remember because I felt so grown up getting to go to your building instead of kindergarten at that stupid daycare."

"Dude, I was eleven. I didn't even kiss a girl till I was 16."

Sam's eyes widened. "Seriously? Your first kiss was when you were sixteen?"

"Yeah."

"Wow."

"What's the big deal?"

"I just thought-that you were younger is all."

"So what 16 is over the hill?"

"Well yeah. For you I mean. I always thought you got into things a lot earlier. You always had girls following you around."

Dean grinned. "Yes, yes I did."

"So who was it?" Sam asked, "Your first kiss?"

"Her name was Robin. Met her at that boys home dad dumped me at," Dean said with a shrug. He watched his brother frown, obviously trying to remember. And then Dean caught the dawning understanding in Sam's eyes.

Sam nodded, shifting in his seat as he said, "I hated him for that. I mean, I didn't know what really happened 'cuz he _lied_ to me, as usual. But I hated him for not trying harder to find you. And I hated him for sending me to Bobby's. I wanted to look for you."

Dean was only slightly surprised by the vehemence in Sam's voice. He'd spent those two months hating his dad for dumping him there and for splitting them up. It had been the worst two months of his life in some ways. And in others...it had been the most _normal_ two months of his life. But normal never had been able to erase the pain he'd felt at being separated from his brother.

Glancing at Sam, Dean said, "Yeah, I kind of hated him for it, too."

* * *

Sam didn't argue when Dean pulled off the road and into the driveway of yet another motel. After their discussion earlier, Dean had been tense and Sam had been tired so neither had bothered attempting further conversation.

They might have been able to make it back to the bunker but, much as he wanted to fall into his own bed, Sam was ready to crash right where he was. He didn't even bother to sit up from where he was slumped against his pillow and the window when Dean went inside to get a room. It wasn't long before Dean returned. He got behind the wheel and Sam tilted his head enough to glance at his brother.

Dean started the engine and shook his head. "You look terrible."

"I got shot," Sam mumbled with a half-hearted smile.

Dean didn't look amused. "That is getting old."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. He thought it was getting old too. Pressing his hand against his side, he hoped Dean had picked a room close to the door. Preferably on the first floor. He wasn't sure he would be able to get out of the car on his own. It hadn't been at any specific, noticeable point in time, but somewhere between their conversation about first kisses and _other_ firsts, and right now, he'd begun to feel awful.

A tap on his window had Sam jerking in surprise. He cursed, keeping his hand pressed to his side and looked up at his brother. Dean motioned and Sam knew he wanted him to move away from the door. It sounded like too much work, but he forced himself to shift. He didn't make it far, but it was enough that Dean could get the door open.

"Damn it." Dean's tone was angry, but his touch was gentle as he reached down to help.

Sam allowed it because he was hurting badly enough not to balk at the assistance. He kept the pillow pressed to his side and mostly muffled a groan as he stood up. For a moment, he couldn't move. Couldn't straighten. Dean's hand was on his shoulder, supporting, not pushing.

"Sam?" Dean asked after a moment.

"Yeah."

"We should've stopped earlier."

"Dean-"

"Let's...let's just get you inside, ok?"

Sam nodded, keeping the pillow pressed to his side regardless of how stupid it made him feel. He waved his free hand and Dean moved back enough for Sam to move. It seemed like a mile to reach the hotel door, but finally, Dean pulled it open and they were inside.

"Two rooms to the left," Dean instructed, not letting go of his arm.

Sam pressed his free hand to the wall as he stumbled. The motion pulled at his side, and he was starting to feel a little lightheaded. Breathing shallowly, Sam closed his eyes.

"Oh, no you don't." Dean tightened his grip.

The keycard beeped. Sam forced his eyes open and kept going. By the time the bed was within reach, his vision was going dark. Closing his eyes again, he trusted Dean to get him where he was supposed to go. As soon as he felt the edge of the bed against his leg, Sam pulled away from his brother and collapsed onto the mattress. Rolling onto his side, Sam clutched the pillow closer and groaned.

"You're pathetic, you know that?"

Sam groaned even louder.

"I'm going back for the gear."

Sam groaned again simply to annoy his brother.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Dean's voice trailed off and the door closed behind him.

Sam lay still, trying to breathe through the pain and wishing he'd taken the painkiller earlier when Dean had offered it to him. At the time, he'd felt ok, but now he knew what a mistake it had been to put off the dose. Curling around the pillow, Sam wondered how far they were from the bunker and how long it was going to take his brother to dig out the painkillers.

Right as he was beginning to consider the merits of passing out, he heard the beep of the keycard in the lock and then Dean was barrelling into the room. Sam was prepared for the racket when Dean dropped all their gear on the floor so he only flinched a little. Not bothering to move, he simply waited.

Dean was muttering to himself as he went through the bags and Sam was starting to get as frustrated as he sounded. Finally, _finally,_ Dean said, "Got 'em. You need to sit up a little."

Sitting up was the last thing he wanted to do, but Sam pushed himself up on his elbow. It took a little more convincing before he could force his eyes open. But Dean was right in front of him, on the edge of the bed, with a bottle of water and a couple pills. Sam took them and flopped back down, tightening his grip on the pillow.

"We should've stopped sooner." Dean was studying him and obviously didn't like what he was seeing.

Sam closed his eyes and hoped the pills would kick in soon.

* * *

Dean hated himself for not stopping earlier. Sam had seemed fine. Had _said_ he was fine. And he'd actually looked fine even to Dean's careful assessments. But in a matter of an hour or two, he'd gone downhill fast and, from the way he was curled up on the bed, it was clear he was feeling awful. He also looked feverish, but Dean was going to give the painkillers a little time to work their magic before he tried to get a look at the wound or do anything else. Sam was so tense that if he touched him right now, he'd probably break.

Sighing, Dean pushed himself carefully up from the bed so he didn't jar his brother and went to deal with the gear. He wasn't bothering to unpack much. It was fairly early in the evening for them to be stopping, but today wasn't a typical trip. He knew they were only a couple hours from the bunker. _Home._ There was no way he could have made Sam sit in the car for even a moment longer, though.

By the time he'd dug through the gear for the laptop and the med kit, Sam still hadn't relaxed any. His eyes were closed and he was breathing carefully so Dean left him alone and headed for the couch. Settling into the cushions, he turned on the tv, put his feet up and rubbed his eyes.

Side aching, he felt headachy and sick to his stomach again. It had been a few days, so surely the results of the overdose must have faded by now. If he were to be completely honest, Dean knew he was feeling sick now, not because of the overdose, but because of the realization of what could have happened. The thought of Sam having managed to survive everything and arriving at the walk-in clinic only to find Dean dead-

It gave him chills.

Ignoring the tv, Dean stole a glance at his brother and prayed he'd never find out what really happened. Sam would never let it completely rest, so Dean had to come up with something to tell him. But hopefully he could skirt the issue while giving Sam something to at least keep him satisfied and not pressing for more details.

Right now, it looked like Sam wasn't going to be pressing for details anytime soon. Dean popped the top off the bottle of beer he'd grabbed from the gear and took a sip. He wanted to do something, _anything,_ but his brother was in too much pain for him to touch yet.

So he sat there and watched mind-numbing television until his own headache was bad enough that he had to go for the Tylenol. It must have been longer than he'd realized because his beer was gone and Sam was sound asleep. Dean stood at the edge of the bed and watched him for a moment. He still looked like he was in pain, but some of the tension had gone away and he wasn't clinging to the pillow like his life depended on it.

His face was flushed, though, and he was breathing too fast and that worried Dean. Turning to the other bed, he pulled the blanket off, and then the top sheet. Tossing the sheet over his brother, Dean headed for the bathroom. Leaning against the sink, he got a washcloth wet, then splashed some water on his face before returning to the other room.

Gently, he settled the washcloth on Sam's forehead, not sure if he was relieved or concerned when the cool cloth didn't garner any reaction. Dean stood there, indecisive. He hated to wake his brother up, but the worry over his fever and if the wound was worse finally pushed him over the edge.

"Sam?" he called softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey, come on, you can sleep in a bit."

"What?" Sam mumbled after a minute. He didn't open his eyes and he didn't sound exactly coherent, but Dean was going to take what he could get.

"You've got a fever. I need to take a look at the stitches. See if it's looking worse."

Sam groaned miserably, but didn't fight when Dean pulled the pillow away.

"Yeah, I know. But you gotta lay on your back, ok? I know it hurts, man, but if it's worse, we gotta deal with it now."

Dean kept up the mindless chatter, more for his benefit than for Sam's. He wasn't sure if Sam was paying any attention at all. But he at least was relaxing enough that Dean could settle him on his back. He still hadn't opened his eyes, and at this point, Dean didn't care. He just wanted to see what was under that bandage.

Pushing the sheet back and tugging Sam's shirt up, Dean prepared himself for the worst and hoped for the best. He'd done a decent job of bandaging the wound earlier so it took him a bit of time to get the bandage off. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found no new blood. It shouldn't have been bleeding any more but he was worried that it had started. It also didn't look much different than it had earlier.

"Look's ok," he said softly. The stitches were intact and, though the wound looked red and painful, it wasn't oozing anything green or awful. The surrounding area was warm to the touch which he didn't like, but probably was to be expected.

He knew the doctor had given him some very clear directions on what to watch for and what to do. He had the instructions stashed carefully in his bag, but he already know most of what he needed to know. It was by no means the first time he'd dealt with an infected gunshot wound, although he hated that he was dealing with one again.

Sam shoved at his hand and mumbled, "Leave it alone."

Shoving right back, Dean reached for the fresh gauze. "I'm not finished yet."

"Y'said it was ok."

"Yeah, well I still gotta cover it up." Dean smoothed the fresh bandage over the wound. "How're you feeling?"

Sam rubbed his eyes. "Tired."

"I know. You gonna eat anything?"

"Not right now." Sam pushed him away again and pulled his shirt down, rolling onto his side.

"Hey, hey, wait," Dean said, poking him in the shoulder. He waved the thermometer in front of his brother when Sam opened his eyes. "Open up."

"Hate when you get like this," Sam muttered, snatching the thermometer away from Dean's fingers.

"When I get like what?"

"Psycho with the thermometer."

"Keep that under your tongue. And close your mouth."

Sam's glare conveyed what he thought of the orders, but Dean just smiled and waited for the beep. As soon as it beeped, Sam spit it out and nestled more deeply into the pillow.

Dean picked it up and glanced at the reading. Low grade. Nothing scary. The relief was like a punch to the chest. _Even so..._ He took a breath, then said, "You're still running a fever."

Sam ignored him.

Dean sighed. "Alright. Get some sleep."

When the silence continued, Dean pushed himself to his feet and grabbed a second beer as he went back to the couch.

Sitting down, he struggled for a moment to get comfortable (or at least less _un_ comfortable), then gave up and popped the top off the beer.

* * *

When Dean woke up, the sun was peeking through the curtains and his neck, back and everything in between, were aching. He rubbed his neck and yawned as he straightened. Falling asleep on the couch hadn't been in the plans, but it probably had been inevitable. Pushing himself upright, Dean ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at the bed.

Sam was where he'd last seen him.

Dean checked the clock. Just after seven in the morning. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to the bed. He hadn't meant to fall asleep and he hadn't slept comfortably, but he'd slept deeply. From the looks of it, Sam had been sleeping just as deeply.

Studying him, Dean debated waking him or waiting a bit longer. He looked comfortable so Dean left him alone and went to take a shower. And then he went to hunt for the breakfast buffet. Returning to the room with a full plate of food, Dean decided Sam had until he finished his breakfast. If he wasn't awake by then, Dean was waking him up.

Carefully closing the door behind him, Dean looked over at the bed. Sam didn't seem all the way awake yet, but he was shifting restlessly like it wouldn't be long. Sitting down at the table, Dean pulled back the curtains just a pinch. Enough to flood the room with some light while not blinding his brother. Dean sat back and ate his breakfast.

He was finishing the last of his coffee when he heard the first mumbled attempt at conversation from the lump on the bed. Setting the empty cup aside, Dean shifted his chair a little closer to the bed.

"Sam?"

"Hmm."

Smiling a little at the noncommittal sound, Dean asked, "How're you feeling?"

It took a minute or two, then Sam mumbled, "How far?"

Dean frowned. He knew what Sam was asking but he didn't like the fact he was asking it instead of answering his question. _Too damn far_ was the truth, but Dean simply said, "A few hours."

Sam finally opened his eyes and it was clear the past few days on the road had taken their toll. He looked around blankly for a moment, then caught Dean's gaze. "I feel like crap."

"Honesty at such an early hour," Dean teased, hoping it disguised his worry, "will wonders never cease."

He didn't get annoyance, denial, or anything else in response to his quip. Sam just lay there, not moving and Dean kicked himself for deciding to make the long drive home right after an injury like this. Too late to change anything now, though.

"What're you thinking?" he asked, already thinking things like hospitals and doctors sounded pretty good. "You need a hospital?"

"Give it a rest," Sam snapped, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Not goin' to another hospital."

"Grumpy," Dean said, then pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I need a look at that wound and to check your temperature before I rule anything out."

Sam didn't say anything, so Dean went for the thermometer. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, he poked Sam in the cheek three times before he finally opened his mouth. Dean smirked, remembering several times in their childhood when he'd checked Sam's temperature while he'd been half-asleep.

"Bad?" Sam asked in a whisper once Dean had taken the thermometer back.

Dean glanced at the number and smiled. "Lower than it was last night."

"I feel worse."

Well, that was the complete opposite of good news. There went the momentary relief. Alarm bells rang in Dean's head at the admission. "You feel worse than last night?"

Sam nodded, tilting his head to meet his gaze.

Dean wanted to drag him straight to a hospital, but switched gears because he could see a hint of fear in Sam's eyes. Trying to sound confident and in control, Dean said, "Alright. Let me take a look. Does your side feel worse?"

This time Sam shook his head, his eyes slipping closed as Dean pushed his hands away from his side. Uncertain whether that was a good thing or not, he focused on the task before him and pulled back the bandage. Relief flooded him when the wound looked no different than it had last night. Dean smoothed the bandage back over the wound, and smiled when he realized Sam was looking at him.

"It looks ok. You probably feel like crap because you're exhausted and stressed and it's been a long week. I'm gonna grab the meds but you gotta try to eat something."

Sam didn't comment, merely put his hand back against his side and closed his eyes again. Dean left him alone and went for the pills and a bottle of water. He studied the plate of breakfast foods he'd gathered. His own appetite hadn't fully returned and he still felt queasy so he'd picked fairly bland foods, but he wasn't sure what he could get his brother to eat. Deciding one of the muffins might be the best option, he brought it along.

Lining the supplies on the bedside table, Dean said, "You gotta sit up."

Sighing, Sam didn't argue and did what he could to help which wasn't much. Dean piled the pillows up behind him and counted his blessings Sam was at least trying. The pills didn't go down any easier than the few bites of muffin he managed, but Dean didn't push. The brief exertion had been enough to make him wonder if Sam was even going to make it out of bed at all today. He started thinking maybe he should pay for another night.

"What time do we have to check out?" Sam asked softly, interrupting his thoughts.

Dean rubbed his eyes, then glanced at his watch. "About an hour. Sam, maybe we should-"

"Give me...give me a few minutes, ok?" Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Let me wake up a little."

"We can stay-"

"I don't want to stay."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off.

"I don't want to stay. Ok? I want to go home." And then he closed his eyes and Dean knew the conversation was over.

"Ok." Dean squeezed his shoulder. "We'll go home."

tbc...

* * *

 **thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello everyone! I promise I did not disappear off the face of the Earth. :) I'm really REALLY sorry for the long delay. I've been having a difficult time of it the last few months. My ability to concentrate has been absolutely non-existent and I can't tell you how many times I've sat down in front of this chapter trying to finish up the last few tweaks and edit it. Hopefully I've gotten some stuff worked out and will be back on track from here.**

 **Huge thanks to my wonderful Beta, _L.H. the 2nd_ , who has kept encouraging me (both in writing and in other aspects of life) and has been so great at reading these chapters and helping me when I'm stuck. :)**

 **Thanks for your patience and hope you enjoy the chapter. :)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 10**_

Sam was relieved when Dean didn't continue pressing the idea of staying because Sam didn't feel strong enough to argue about it. In a way, he felt stupid for insisting they leave. It wasn't fair of him to be pushing his brother to get them home. Dean was run down and sick and killing himself to make sure Sam was ok. He'd been doing all the driving and would continue to do so because, at this point, Sam knew he couldn't drive even if he wanted to.

Which he didn't.

He wanted to be in his own bed, the bunker door safely locked up tight. And he wanted to know his brother was safe behind that door with him. He wanted not to be in pain, not to feel like hell, and he kind of wanted to get drunk and forget the last week.

Through half-opened eyes, he watched Dean packing up the few items he'd unpacked. Dean was moving slowly; like he was weighed down by a hundred tons of rock. Or as if he were 100 years old. Sam realized how selfish he was being. It would be better for Dean's sake if they stayed where they were. Another day to rest and recover; he obviously needed it. It was childish to be in such a hurry. The hotel was nice. The bed was comfortable even if it wasn't his own. They were safe and could recover.

Sam opened his mouth to suggest they stay, then changed his mind. He looked more closely at his brother, looking past the fatigue and the worry etched into his features, and saw something else. Beneath everything else, Dean appeared relieved. Concerned and still on high alert, but relieved. Maybe going home was what they both needed even more than another night in a strange place. Dean said it was only a few more hours to the bunker.

They could do it.

At least that's what Sam told himself. Of course, he couldn't even sit up without assistance, so he might be a tad optimistic. Sam shook his head and pushed the blanket aside. He could and he _would_ sit up and get ready to go on his own. He was fully capable.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sam stopped with one foot on the floor and looked over at his brother. Dean had both hands full, eyes narrowed. He was on the care-taker defensive and Sam knew diffusing his brother when he got like this was a delicate operation.

Sam mentally crossed his fingers. "I'm getting ready to leave?"

"Yeah?" The gear in Dean's hands thumped to the floor and he crossed the room in a couple strides. "Where's the fire? You said you needed some time to wake up."

"And now I'm awake." Sam grabbed Dean's arm to help pull himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

"Well take it easy will you? No one here to impress." Dean steadied him when he swayed. "I'm already impressed, ok? You took out how many werewolves?"

Sam smiled and held up three fingers.

"Exactly. While shot and bleeding and half dead. So you don't have to act so tough. I know you're tough. How about you make this a little easier on both of us and just let me hhelp you?"

And it sounded so good that Sam nodded and sighed heavily, not even a little ashamed when he allowed his brother to support a bit more of his weight.

"Ok."

"Ok?" Dean sounded doubtful.

"Yeah. Ok." Sam waved his fingers in surrender. "I don't feel good. At all. My side is killing me and I don't feel good enough to sleep which is all I want to do so can you help me get to the bathroom then get us the hell out of here?"

Dean laughed outright and it did more to relax Sam than any medication in the world. Sam smiled as his brother gently pulled him to his feet. Dean steadied him and said, "So needy. So whiny. What a baby."

"Remember, this needy, whiny baby saved your ass," Sam huffed, putting a hand out against the doorframe. "Go away."

"Bossy, too." Dean held his hands up and backed away, somehow looking better than he had in days. "Don't take forever in there, I wanna hit the road. You keep dragging your feet and we're never gonna get home."

Sam slammed the door in Dean's face to hide his own grin.

And then he took his own sweet time. Washed his face. Brushed his teeth. Twice. And then he had to sit down on the edge of the tub when his legs refused to hold him up for even another half second.

 _Well crap._

He was supposed to be letting Dean help him. He'd just agreed on that. And now here he sat. On the edge of the tub. Proving a point. And failing.

There was a knock on the door.

"You need another few minutes to sit in there acting tough?"

"No," Sam called back, "I'm good."

The door opened immediately. Dean looked him up and down and shook his head.

"Shoes?" Sam asked, holding out his toothbrush.

Dean rolled his eyes, but took the toothbrush and left the room. Sam took the opportunity to catch his breath. Half a second later and Dean dropped his boots on the floor in front of him.

"I suppose you expect me to put your shoes on now." Dean was already leaning down to do so.

"You're the one who said I should let you help me."

"This wasn't quite what I meant. It's been like three decades since I taught you how to tie your shoes." Dean pushed himself to his feet, one hand braced to his ribs, the other gripping the edge of the sink. "Look. I gotta fuel Baby up. And get some coffee. We still got some time. How about you sit tight-"

"On the tub?"

"You're the one who sat there. You wanna sit tight on the _couch_ while I go get the gas?"

"No." Sam shook his head, grabbing Dean's arm and dragging himself to his feet. "No. I'm coming with you."

"Fine. You just want some coffee."

Sam didn't bother to comment. He didn't really want coffee. But he also didn't want to be left behind.

"It's not the same thing," Dean said softly, guiding Sam out of the bathroom.

"What?"

"It's not the same thing. I'm not gonna leave you behind again."

"You didn't," Sam said, understanding what Dean was thinking about.

"How did I not?" Dean tightened his grip on Sam's arm. "I walked out of there and-"

"Did what you had to do to save Corbin and Michelle," Sam cut him off.

The pain bled from his voice as Dean said, "I was coming back for you."

"I know you were." And Sam meant it. He was one hundred percent certain of the fact. He caught Dean's eye, saw the acceptance of his statement and felt a little better. He smiled. "You always do."

Dean returned the smile briefly, then they were both concentrating on staying upright and getting out of the hotel room. Every step sent a fresh bolt of pain stabbing through his side and radiating through his entire body. By the time they reached the parking lot, Sam was limping and unable to stand up straight.

"Ok, Sammy, right here. You're here."

Sam braced a hand against the side of the car while Dean pulled the passenger side door open. Sitting down took everything Sam had left and he mostly zoned out as Dean ran back inside to grab their gear.

"Still with me?"

The door slammed and Sam tilted his head to glance at his brother. "Always."

Dean smirked and started the engine. "We gotta stop for gas."

"You said that."

"Yeah. And coffee."

"And coffee," Sam repeated, the very thought of coffee turning his stomach.

"You don't want coffee." Dean leaned over and pressed the pillow to his side. "Hug your pillow."

Sam hugged his pillow.

"Anything sound good?" Dean asked, checking for traffic, then pulling out onto the street.

"No," Sam said, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes.

He didn't bother to open them when the car stopped and Dean got out to pump the gas. Moments passed while he drifted in and out of the drug-haze that settled over him whenever he wasn't paying enough attention to fight it off. The opening of the driver's side door alerted him to his brother's reappearance.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

Dean nudged his shoulder. "Breakfast."

Sam forced his eyes open, ready to turn down whatever Dean was trying to offer him.

"Smoothie." Dean held up a cup.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Dean shook the cup in front of his eyes. "Pretty sure it's a smoothie. Protein. Fruit. Calcium and vitamin D. All mashed up into something that calls itself a smoothie. Isn't that what you keep telling me?"

"Uh...that's not quite how I put it, but yeah." Sam took the cup. "Thanks."

"Just take your time. Don't need you throwin' up all over the car."

"I'm gonna say this once." Sam took a sip of the smoothie. "Do _not_ talk about throwing up? At all. Got it?"

"Got it. Radio ok?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know." Dean flipped the radio on but kept the volume low. "You got a headache?"

"Surprisingly, right now that's about the only thing that _doesn't_ ache."

Dean grimaced.

"You?"

"Head. Ribs. Everything in between." Dean took a sip of coffee, then settled more comfortably in the seat.

Sam studied him, then, belatedly, asked, "You ok to drive?"

There was a moment of hesitation, then Dean nodded. "I can get us there."

 _But no further,_ Sam thought, sensing Dean's exhaustion in his tone and the preciseness of his answer.

It was going to be a very, very long trip.

* * *

It was going to be a very, very long trip.

Dean took another sip of coffee, watching the first drops of rain splash against the windshield. Sam was slurping on his smoothie, but with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. At least he was trying. Setting his coffee cup back in the to-go tray on the seat between them, Dean turned the volume down a bit more on the radio.

The miles passed in silence and Dean found himself counting. The minutes. The miles. Each breath Sam took. It didn't take long before fatigue began pressing down on him. Dean checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time.

They'd been on the road for half an hour.

Dean decided not to think about how much further they had to go. He tried to think about the music on the radio or the little towns they were passing through or what he wanted for lunch, but nothing worked. All he could think about was how much his head hurt and how tired he was and how sick his brother was and how lucky he was that Sam was still alive.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hm?" Dean glanced over at his brother.

Sam had his head resting on the window and was holding the smoothie out with a shaking hand. Dean grabbed it and set it next to his coffee. The cup was almost half empty which was encouraging.

Apparently that was all Sam had wanted because as soon as the cup was out of his hand, he curled up closer to the window and tightened his grip on the pillow as he closed his eyes.

Any other time, Dean would have given him a hard time about it. Of course, any other time, Sam wouldn't have needed him to take the cup from him because he wouldn't be sitting there with a bullet hole in his gut. Fingers tightening around the steering wheel, Dean's mind replayed the awful scene in the cabin for what had to be the thousandth time.

Every single detail stood out with perfect clarity and he had to look back over at his brother again to reassure himself everything was fine. And it was. Everything _was_ fine. The panic faded with the passing mile markers. After about twenty miles, he could breathe a little easier. After fifty, the pressure in his chest faded. By mile one hundred, Sam was sound asleep and Dean felt as relaxed as he figured he was likely to under the circumstances.

The headache settled to a dull throb and his hands were shaking. The coffee wasn't doing his stomach any favors, but he kept drinking it to ward off the fatigue.

He drove for a solid two hours before he had to pull off to get more coffee. Sam slept through the stop and after another ten miles, Dean started thinking about plans for after they got home. He was going to need to run to the store because he was pretty sure there was nothing edible left in the kitchen.

His mental inventory of the refrigerator ground to a halt when Sam gasped. Dean automatically eased up on the gas and looked over at his brother. Sam was pushing himself up from where he'd been slumped against the door. Pale and obviously troubled, Sam shoved the pillow aside and reached for the door handle.

"Sam?"

"Pull over." The words were a pained, yet intense, whisper.

Dean didn't waste time in discussion; he eased the car to a smooth stop on the side of the road.

"You gonna be sick?" Dean asked, turning the car off and preparing to be of assistance.

Sam didn't answer, instead opening his door and struggling to get out. Grabbing the keys, Dean got out of the car, feeling very slow and yet managing to reach the other side of the car before Sam even had a foot on the ground. Dean wanted to stop him from going anywhere, but didn't because he could see the blatant panic in his brother's eyes. Assuming it had been a nightmare to yank Sam from his sleep, Dean understood the fight or flight response.

So Dean hauled him out of the car and allowed Sam to squeeze the heck out of his left shoulder to steady himself. Dean kept his grip gentle, but tried to ease Sam back against the car so he didn't wind up on the ground.

"No. Let me go," Sam said, voice rough as his grip on Dean's shoulder turned into a weak push.

"Where?" Dean took a step back, but didn't release _his_ grip on his brother. "Talk to me, Sam. Where do you need to go? You awake?"

"Yeah." Sam panted, squeezing his eyes closed and tugging at his jacket.

"Yeah what?" Dean prompted. Sam was the color of paper and fighting to pull his jacket off. Dean shook his head, wanting to know what the problem was, but deciding keeping Sam from falling over was more important. So he helped him get out of the jacket. "Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm awake."

"Ok. Wanna tell me what the hell is going on?" The rain had stopped but it was a bit too nippy to be standing around having a side of the road freak-out. "How about you sit down?"

"No."

"No?" Ok, maybe it was a bit too nippy _and_ he was a bit too low on patience for the side of the road freak out. Dean shook his head, trying and failing to meet his brothers eyes as he asked, "Why can't you sit down?"

"Can't...need to…" Sam's voice trailed off as he motioned up the road.

Nightmares and freak-outs were par for the course, but this was getting ridiculous. "You're barely on your feet. Talk to me here."

Sam grabbed at his arm, pulling himself straighter and finally meeting Dean's questioning gaze. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Sam said, "I needed to get out."

"I figured that. You're out. Now can you sit down?"

Instead of answering, Sam attempted to pull away again. Dean allowed the movement, leaving the discarded jacket on top of the car as he maintained his grip on his brother's arm. They made it to the trunk before Sam ran out of steam. Dean propped him against the trunk and some of the tension melted out of his brother. A car sped by, but Dean didn't even glance at it; full concentration on the situation in front of him.

"Better?" he asked after a few seconds passed in silence.

Sam nodded, but he really didn't look like he felt much better. He looked shaky and upset.

Trying again, Dean prompted, "What happened?"

It took a couple uneven breaths, then Sam said, "I got too hot."

"I would've turned the heat-"

"Felt like I was suffocating."

 _Well, crap._ Dean's stomach turned at the thought. From the expression on Sam's face, his stomach was turning a few loops, too. Dean steadied Sam as he settled more heavily on the edge of the trunk. "Nightmare?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder, then grimaced. Pressing both hands against his side, Sam said, "Wasn't really sleeping. More of a memory, I guess."

"Sorry."

"It's ok." Sam's smile faded almost immediately. "Just needed to….get out."

"I know. Doing better?"

Sam nodded.

"Need a little longer?"

Another nod.

Dean checked the time. He was allowing five minutes before he called an end to the impromptu rest stop. All five minutes passed in complete silence. Dean was about to open his mouth when Sam spoke up.

"Where are we?"

"About forty minutes from our front door."

"Ok." It sounded like Sam was steeling himself for what was to come.

"How you holdin' up?"

"I've been better."

"Yes, you have." Dean turned and studied his brother more closely. What he saw wasn't encouraging. It wasn't unexpected, but it wasn't encouraging. They needed to be home and Sam needed to be comfortably drugged to his eyeballs.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam leaned a little more heavily against him and said, "I don't think I can sit up any longer."

"I'll make room in the back."

"Thanks."

"You ok to sit here till I-"

Sam nodded.

Dean took a moment to ensure Sam was indeed going to remain upright before he left him at the back of the car alone. Hurrying to the back door, Dean pulled it open and shoved the few items he'd stashed on the backseat onto the floor. He pushed the laundry bag up against the door for a makeshift pillow. Dean reached over the front seat for the actual pillow, then walked back toward the trunk.

Sam hadn't moved from where he'd left him and he didn't look up as Dean approached.

"You good to go?" Dean asked, pressing the pillow into his brother's arms.

"Need to lay down." Sam tilted toward him.

"I know." Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders and said, "Backseat's all ready for you. Not as luxurious as when you were about a third as huge as you are now, but it's better than nothing."

Sam didn't answer, just allowed himself to be eased off the trunk and guided to the back seat. It wasn't anywhere near as easy as it had been when he'd been about a third as huge as he was now, either, but Dean managed to get his brother settled in the back with his head resting on the laundry bag. He had his knees drawn up and his boots on the seat, but Dean wasn't going to worry about the upholstery right now. Dean tossed Sam's jacket over him, but Sam pushed it away.

"Ok?" Dean asked, patting his brother's leg.

"Ok." Sam sounded half-asleep already.

Dean smiled, then backed out of the car. Closing the door, he took a moment to stretch out his stiff neck and back before heading for the drivers side.

Forty minutes till they were home.

* * *

Twenty minutes away from the Bunker, Dean pulled the car over to the side of the road again.

Stomach churning, he put the car in park at the same time he pushed open his door. Sam was going to wonder what was going on, but even as he considered saying something, Dean's stomach did a complete back-flip and he was lucky just to get his door open and not wind up with puke on his boots.

Doubled over, still sitting on the edge of his seat, Dean's eyes watered at the pain ripping through his side. He braced a hand to his ribs as he threw up over and over and regretted not snitching another of the nausea medications from his brother's supply. Breathing shallowly, Dean willed himself not to throw up again, but apparently his willpower was about as done in as he himself was. Hurling all over the rain-slicked pavement, Dean also regretted drinking the coffee. It had been necessary because his focus was almost depleted, but it had been brutal on his unsteady stomach.

He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head hang as he tried to get his breathing under control. The headache he'd been fighting all morning pounded behind his closed eyes and he considered taking an ibuprofen, but the thought itself left him gagging and spitting again. He must have emptied everything out though, because nothing came up this time.

Groaning at the agony in his side and head, Dean sat there, sweating and sick. He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he felt a tap on his shoulder, Dean glanced up. His head swam as he tried to figure out what he was going to tell his brother.

But Sam didn't say anything so Dean just took the bottle of water Sam had tapped against his shoulder. Taking a sip, he rinsed and spit a few times before finally daring to take a drink. Sam didn't say anything and Dean was grateful. It took a few more minutes before he felt steady enough to fully sit up and check the back seat.

Sam was sitting up, arms braced on the back of the seat, head down against his arms. He didn't say anything or move, so Dean didn't bother initiating a conversation. Instead, he pulled his feet back into the car and closed the door. Setting the bottle of water aside, Dean glanced over his shoulder again. Sam was still resting his head on the seat back, apparently intending to stay where he was. Dean started the car and heard Sam sigh heavily.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes to get home.

Dean focused on the road ahead and pressed his foot resolutely to the gas.

* * *

It may only have been twenty minutes, but it was the longest twenty minutes of the entire trip.

Twenty minutes that passed in complete silence. Dean was fighting to remain focused past the headache and nausea and Sam had never moved from his position resting against the back of the seat. Huddled there, he looked as miserable as Dean was certain he felt. When he parked the car in the garage at the bunker, Dean knew he wasn't imagining the sigh of relief he heard from behind him.

"Honey, we're home," Dean teased half-heartedly, glancing over his shoulder.

Sam didn't respond or make a move. Dean sighed and forced himself to get out of the car. He wavered where he stood for a moment or two before he felt strong enough to step away from the support the car offered him. Making his way to the rear door, he pulled it open and tugged the bag of laundry out and left it on the ground next to the rear tire. Dean leaned down enough to get a glimpse of his brother.

"Sam?" Dean waited a moment, then reached in and squeezed Sam's shoulder.

This time, Sam moved. A little. It was a start. Dean waited, less out of patience and more out of what he knew was a mutual feeling of pure exhaustion. Eventually, Sam lifted his head and pushed himself toward the door. Dean's offered hand was accepted without a word.

Getting Sam out of the car and on his feet wasn't easy. Neither of them said a word and they were both sweating by the time Sam was standing up and clutching the pillow.

Keeping a hand on Sam's arm, Dean waited till he was steady (more or less) and some color had come back into his ghost-pale skin, then guided him toward the door. They were moving so slowly they might as well have been walking backwards.

"You gonna make it?" Dean asked softly, feeling his brother's pace slow to a complete stop.

At the sound of his voice, Sam lifted his head a pinch and glanced around without a hint of interest. He briefly made eye contact; the first time since their first side of the road pit stop. Dean wondered if he looked as dead on his feet as his brother did. Sam lowered his gaze to the floor and made a conscious effort to move forward again.

Relieved, Dean encouraged, "Ok. Little bit further."

They weren't even halfway to Sam's room before Dean started considering the fact they might need to make a pit stop for Sam to sit down. With his own ribs sharply protesting movement in general and holding up too-tall little brothers in particular, Dean was ready to sit down, too. But he didn't because sitting down wasn't the answer. Lying down high on painkillers was the only answer and if he stopped, so would Sam.

No more encouraging words were offered because he didn't have the breath for it. Sam never stopped moving despite the lack of guidance and they finally walked into his room. Of course, crossing the threshold seemed to be akin to crossing a finish line because once he crossed it, Sam started to slump.

"Nuh uh," Dean said, startled at the sudden additional weight he found himself holding.

Putting his free hand against Sam's chest, Dean held him up as he dragged him the rest of the way to the bed. Whether it was the exertion or fever, Dean realized Sam was overheated and sweat-soaked. Settling him on the edge of the bed as gently as possible wasn't apparently gently enough.

Sam's skin went from pale to ashen and Dean knew he needed to do something fast. Glad the wastebasket was within stretching distance, Dean pulled it over while keeping a hand braced against his brother's chest. Sam had his eyes closed and arms squeezing the stuffing out of the pillow.

"You gonna hurl?"

He shook his head, but the way Sam was breathing unsteadily didn't exactly make Dean feel confident. So he just kept the wastebasket in his hand while he moved his other hand to Sam's shoulder. After a touch and go moment or two, the tension seemed to relax a bit in Sam's posture and his breathing settled. Relieved, Dean took his chance and set the wastebasket back down.

Sam wilted forward a bit more over his pillow and Dean decided it was past time for him to be horizontal. But before he could allow Sam to lay down, he needed to get him medicated. Dean cursed under his breath, knowing he'd have to run back out to the car to bring in the supplies.

"I gotta go get the meds," Dean said, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "You ok to sit there for a minute?"

He didn't receive a response or eye contact, but figured he'd have to take what he could get. Sam was still sitting up and seemed disinclined to move anytime soon, so Dean left him be and headed for the door. Considering he felt like crap, he thought he made pretty good time jogging out to the garage. Lugging their gear back downstairs left him short of breath and in more than a little pain. He had to pause for a moment to catch his breath and steady himself when a wave of dizziness swept over him.

Dumping everything on the table in the library, Dean sorted through it until he found Sam's phone, the thermometer, meds, and the last bottle of water. His pace was slower as he made his way back toward Sam's room. The toll of their trip and everything that had happened before was weighing him down as much as it was weighing his brother down.

Stepping back into Sam's room, he was a little surprised to find Sam had managed to lay down without assistance. He was on his side, pillow held tight and the covers pulled up halfway like that was as far as he could get them before he ran out of steam. Dean set the supplies down on the nightstand and tugged the covers up higher.

Sam glanced at him, bleary eyes tracking sluggishly as he trembled under the blanket.

"Meds then sleep, ok?" Dean said, grabbing another pillow and gently sliding it under Sam's head.

If he didn't know how crummy Sam was feeling, Dean would have been worried by the continued silence. But he didn't really need Sam to talk right now. He just needed him to stay awake long enough to get medicated and hydrated. Dean shook out the pills, relieved to see Sam still had his eyes open. Half-open, anyway.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dean held the thermometer up. "First things first."

Sam took the thermometer without argument and Dean wasn't sure what to make of that. He decided not to comment. They sat in silence until the device beeped. Dean glanced at it and felt a pang of relief temper his worry. 100.2. Not great but not a three alarm fire, either. He didn't bother to report the finding to Sam because his eyes were closed and he didn't seem to care anyway.

Instead, he uncapped the bottle of water and asked, "Ready?"

It was obvious Sam wasn't ready for much of anything, but he forced his eyes open and allowed Dean to handle the water and the pills. Once he was satisfied Sam had taken enough to keep him semi-hydrated for the time being, Dean set the bottle of water aside.

Sam blinked up at him as if awaiting further directions.

"You can get some sleep now, ok? I gotta run to the store for some food."

In answer, Sam shook his head.

"Dude, we're out of food. You need to eat. _We_ need to eat." Dean wasn't sure what the hesitation was, but he knew they didn't have a choice. "I'll be fast. You're just gonna sleep anyway."

Sam closed his eyes and nodded, still obviously not thrilled with the idea.

"Call me if you need me." Dean pressed Sam's phone into his hand and waited till his fingers closed around it.

Sam glanced at him again and Dean wished he could really read his brother's mind. Sometimes he had a good idea what Sam was thinking, but other times he was a complete enigma. Dean wanted to ask what was going on, but clearly Sam wasn't up to talking. He wanted to be on his way, but Dean hesitated to go anywhere yet. So he reached for a pencil and a notepad from the stacks on Sam's desk.

"I'm just gonna make a list first." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Dean wasn't planning to go anywhere until Sam fell asleep. Making a list and boring them both to tears seemed like a good way to lull Sam to sleep.

For a moment, he wasn't sure it was going to work. Sam was obviously fighting hard against the pull of exhaustion. Dean just remained quiet and worked on his list. In the end, exhaustion won out over Sam's stubbornness and Dean smiled when he realized his brother was out for the count.

He waited a moment or two longer just to make sure, then pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door.

Faster he left, faster he'd get back.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading! Hope this chapter was worth the long wait! :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi everyone! Longer chapter ahead for your reading pleasure! :) Thank you for all your kind reviews and the encouragement! I think I'm finally getting over the low I've been sunk in for the past few months. :) Of course, as I'm recovering from that and feeling better...I go and throw my back out...go figure. So the past 5 days I've been hobbling around in the most severe pain I've ever experienced. Take care of your backs, folks! I'm getting past it now and at least I could write on my phone while lying in bed.**

 **Enjoy the chapter as the boys are (finally!) able to begin the true rest and recovery period!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 11**_

It was after the third person asked if he was alright that Dean's foggy mind comprehended he must look as bad as he felt.

Maybe worse, because the woman with the baby in her arms had asked if she could call someone for him. He'd politely thanked her and walked away. There wasn't any need for her to call anyone. There wasn't anyone _to_ call, anyway, because the only person near who could come get him was drugged and asleep.

At least he _hoped_ Sam was still sleeping. Dean paused in the aisle and checked his phone. Still no messages. Which was good. He rubbed his eyes, then read through the list again. It was taking him much longer than he'd wanted, or expected. Given the way he felt disconnected from his body and the situation around him, Dean figured he was doing great since he'd managed to get everything on the list.

Walking to the check-out, he shoved the list and his phone into his jacket pocket and made a conscious effort to look healthy. Whether he succeeded or not, he didn't know. The teenage cashier did his job quickly, efficiently and without eye contact. Dean was grateful; he didn't need another person advising him that her primary care provider routinely kept time slots available for new patients.

The thought wouldn't leave him alone, though, as he was loading the bags into the Impala. Sliding behind the wheel, Dean pulled out his phone again and checked it like the concerned brother he was. He snorted, remembering Sam's term for it.

"Brothering," Dean muttered to the empty car. No messages. "Yeah, well you're gonna be stuck with it for awhile, Sammy. You get shot, you get brothered."

Setting the phone aside, Dean took a moment to close his eyes and attempt to rein in his racing thoughts. The supplies were purchased, but he still had to get them home and unpacked and check on his brother and all he wanted to do was crash in his own bed for the next three days. Dean took a deep breath, remembered why it wasn't a good idea, and cursed at the pain in his chest.

He added ice packs to his mental list of desires and started the car. As he put it into drive, the thought of the doctor swam back into the forefront of his mind. Sam's hospital discharge papers had recommended follow-up with a primary care provider in two days. Well, they'd passed that milestone up, but Dean decided better late than never.

So he turned left when he really wanted to turn right. Home was screaming his name, but the _brothering_ instinct screamed louder. Hospitals were saved for only the most extreme of circumstances. They could deal with almost everything on their own. And going to see a regular doctor? Dean couldn't honestly remember the last time either of them had been to a primary care provider for even a routine check-up.

Dean stopped at a red light and couldn't help but smile as he suddenly remembered sitting on his little brother to help hold him down when he had to receive his immunizations. Dad and the nurse had been struggling to contain the flailing limbs so Dean had climbed up to help. Sam had screamed bloody blue murder and bit his arm. Dean had felt it was all kinds of unfair considering he still had to get needles shoved into his muscles too. He'd glared at his brother while he'd received his own injections, but it hadn't taken long for the anger to fade. Sam cried himself out in Dad's arms and Dad had carried him out to the car where he promptly fell asleep.

Dean got a huge slice of pie topped with ice cream and a cherry while his brother napped. It was one of his favorite memories of his father. One of the hazy, normal-life moments that were all too few and far between.

Decision solidified, Dean headed to the clinic the woman had told him about in order to make an appointment.

Of course, Sam was going to kill him when he found out about it and Dean wasn't looking forward to that argument. Sam might not be five anymore, but Dean could still sit on him if he needed to. And he might need to, because this wasn't something they were going to negotiate.

With a sigh, Dean parked at the clinic, then dragged himself inside and toward the front desk.

"Can I help you?"

Dean smiled at the pretty receptionist and leaned against the counter. "Hope so. Need to make an appointment."

"Ok," she said, typing something into the computer. "Have you been seen here before?"

"No. And the appointment's for my brother, not me. He hasn't been here before, either."

The girl glanced up at him over her glasses. Evaluating. Dean should've taken a look at himself in a mirror. If her expression was any clue, he didn't look good.

Forcing another charming smile (he hoped), Dean said, "His name's Sam. Sam Winchester. Date of birth May 2nd, 1983."

"Uh, ok." She went back to typing. "We do have one new patient opening day after tomorrow. Late morning."

"Nothing sooner?"

"I'm afraid not."

Dean considered. The chances of him being able to get Sam out of bed to go to an appointment today were laughable, and even tomorrow seemed unlikely, so he nodded. "We'll take it."

"Ok. And is there a specific-"

"Hospital follow-up."

The girl glanced up at him again. "I'm sorry to hear he was in the hospital."

"Thanks. He's ok, but I don't want to take any chances."

"I understand. I'll schedule him for 11 AM day after tomorrow. Would you like the new patient paperwork to fill out at your convenience prior to the visit?"

"Sure."

She handed him a set of forms and asked, "And what is the hospital follow up for?"

"Gunshot wound." Dean could tell she was surprised, but she was professional and didn't make a big deal out of it.

Instead, she added another note into the computer. "How long ago was the injury?"

Dean shook his head. "About a week I think. I don't even know what day it is."

Her smile was sympathetic. "It's Tuesday. And I don't know what day it is half the time, either. Ok you're all set for that appointment Thursday at 11 am. Just bring in the new patient paperwork and any discharge forms from the hospital."

"Will do." Dean folded up the forms. "Thanks."

As much of a relief as it was to have the appointment scheduled, Dean was dead on his feet. His pace was slow as he made his way back to the Impala and he sank into the seat with a sigh of relief. Too much time had passed since he'd left the bunker for him to allow himself the luxury of sitting still for even a moment longer.

After one more check of his phone, no new messages, Dean started the engine.

The drive back to the bunker was uneventful although it felt like it would never end. Loading up all of his purchases, Dean struggled to get everything inside without dropping anything. He wasn't about to waste time making multiple trips, though, so in went everything. Nothing fell, including him, which he counted as a massive win. The bags went on the table and he went straight to his brother's room.

Sam was still asleep. Deeply and comfortably from all appearances. No longer tensely wrapped around a pillow, he was on his back, arms relaxed and sprawled across the bed like he was finally resting without pain. Dean leaned against the doorframe, relief sweeping over him at the sight of Sam's even and easy breathing.

Weariness swept over him along with the relief, so he forced himself to return to the kitchen to put away the groceries. It took him less than five minutes. Filling a glass with water, Dean took one of the medications for the nausea, then made his way back to Sam's room.

Nothing had changed and he knew Sam was likely to sleep on for awhile longer. Walking all the way back to his own room, though, seemed like too much effort so Dean just grabbed an extra pillow from Sam's bed and tossed it on the floor. Still wearing his jacket, Dean eased himself down and rested his head on the pillow. The floor was hard, the position less than comfortable and his stomach and head were both threatening to explode.

Despite it all, Dean fell asleep three breaths later.

* * *

It was seven pm when Dean woke up. His body was stiff and sore; every muscle tight, yet he felt better than he had when he'd laid down. He'd slept well considering he'd been on the floor. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dean cautiously pushed himself upright and glanced at his brother.

Sam was still sound asleep and for a second, Dean was tempted to let him be. But he couldn't. Because it had been hours since Sam had eaten anything and he was past due for medications. So Dean shook off the lingering sleepiness and pushed himself upright. Hand braced to his side, Dean got to his feet, then settled on the edge of the bed.

"Sam? Time to wake up."

It took a moment before Sam stirred and a few more minutes of gentle coaxing before his eyes slid open. He looked disoriented and Dean could understand the feeling all too well. The disorientation transitioned in a heartbeat to wide-eyed fear.

Sam reached out to grab his shirt and Dean frowned, asking, "What's wrong? Pain worse?"

The hand on his shirt didn't release, but Sam shook his head. Dean held still and waited. It took a moment, then Sam relaxed his grip and sighed. He pressed a hand to his eyes and said, "Had a nightmare."

"You didn't wake up." Dean knew he would've heard it if Sam had called out for him.

"Sometimes I don't," Sam said, lowering his hand and staring up at Dean.

"Was it about-" Dean couldn't quite bring himself to say _the cage_.

Sam shook his head.

The admission was a relief because the last thing Sam needed right now was to be getting lost in those memories again. Dean smiled a little and said, "Well you know it wasn't real-"

"It _was_ real," Sam cut him off softly. "It was real."

"What was real?"

"The first time you died," Sam whispered, closing his eyes.

 _Crap!_ That had been the last thing Dean expected to hear, but he supposed it really shouldn't be that much of a surprise. He'd been having his own share of memories and nightmares of his brother dying. While he was glad Sam hadn't been dreaming about the cage or the devil, Dean wished sometimes they could just have a nightmare like normal people. Missed the alarm. Late for work. Forget to pack the kid's lunch.

Anything but death.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam met his gaze again. "Is it time for-"

"Yeah, that's why I woke you up." Dean checked his watch again. "You need to eat something, too."

"Help me up?"

"I'll deliver-"

Sam waved a hand. "Need to…"

"Ok, well take it slow," Dean cautioned, peeling the blankets back. "I'll go get the meds and something for you to eat."

If Sam was excited by the prospect of food, the way his face paled as he sat up didn't show it. Dean kept a hand on his shoulder until Sam seemed steady, then helped him to his feet.

"You need help?"

Sam put a hand to the wall and shook his head. "I got it."

"Holler if you need me."

"I will." Sam forced a quick smile as he slowly made his way to the bathroom.

Dean hesitated for a moment, then headed in the opposite direction. It didn't take him long to gather the needed supplies and he beat his brother back to the bedroom. Dean set out the medications and food, then eased himself down on the desk chair to wait. Resting his elbows on the edge of the desk, Dean pressed his fingertips to his temples.

"Dean?"

He turned at the sound of Sam's voice. "What's up?"

"Ice pack?" Sam asked, leaning his head against the door jamb.

"Sure." Dean pushed himself back to his feet and gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze as he walked by him. "Be right back."

"Thanks."

By the time he returned, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, determinedly munching on the slice of toast. He pointed at the nightstand without a word and Dean saw the thermometer sitting on the edge. Dean set the ice pack beside it, then glanced at the memory recall. 100.1. Not terrible, and yet…

"You shouldn't still be running a fever," Dean said, looking at his brother and not liking what he was seeing.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Sam spared him an annoyed glance, before finishing the toast and reaching for the bottle of Gatorade.

Dean allowed the topic to drop because, really, what would be the point of arguing about it? He sighed, thinking about the doctor's appointment he'd set for Thursday. Now was not the time to broach the subject with his brother, though. Dean shook out the correct medications and dropped them into Sam's waiting hand.

"You want anything else to eat?" Dean asked once Sam had swallowed the pills.

"No. Thanks." Sam was already listing toward the pillows.

"Alright." Dean helped him get settled, then handed him the ice pack.

Sam pushed it back at him. "Use it."

"What?"

"I can see how much your ribs are hurting. Don't argue."

Dean rolled his eyes, but took the ice pack. "They're fine. It's not the first time I've had broken ribs."

"Just because it isn't the first time doesn't mean it hurts any less." Sam closed his eyes. "Take care of yourself, will you?"

"Sam, stop worrying about me. You've got-"

"I have to worry about you because you won't do it yourself," Sam said, glancing up at him wearily. "So this is me. Brothering you."

Dean laughed, automatically pressing his hand to his ribs. "Fine, fine, fine. You win. I'll ice 'em."

"Thank you." Sam snuggled closer to his pillow and closed his eyes. "I want breakfast in bed tomorrow. Now go away."

Laughing again despite the pain, Dean asked, "What happened to brothering?"

"Go sleep in your own bed," Sam mumbled, eyes still closed. "Don't sleep on the floor again. Ice your ribs. Eat something then take some ibuprofen. I've got my phone. I'll call you if I need something."

His voice faded to less than a whisper, but the sincerity and worry came through loud and clear.

Dean pulled the covers up a little higher and patted his shoulder. "Ok. I will."

Sam smiled a little, but didn't open his eyes. Dean held the ice pack to his ribs and waited. He only had to wait a couple minutes before Sam fell asleep. Ensuring his cell phone was within reach, Dean studied him for a moment longer, then turned down the lights and left the room.

He returned to the kitchen, ate a piece of toast, forced down some pills, then dragged himself to his room. Easing down onto his bed, Dean rested the ice pack to his ribs and sighed in relief, fingers gripping his cell phone.

Finally.

His own memory foam mattress. Brother medicated and resting. Doctor's appointment scheduled. Safe in the bunker. Things were looking up.

Home had never felt so good.

* * *

 _next morning_

Sam woke up feeling disoriented and cold. He opened his eyes to a familiar room, lit with a gentle light from the small lamp on the desk. His desk. His lamp. His _room._

The disorientation melted away and he closed his eyes, pressing his head into his pillow and allowing his racing heart to settle. Fumbling with his right hand, he found the edge of his blanket and pulled it up until he was at least partially covered. He still felt cold, but it was a step in the right direction.

After a moment, he opened his eyes again and looked around the room. The desk had been converted into a pharmacy and Sam had to smile. The chair was pulled out at an angle and an extra blanket was over the back. The blanket was tempting, but Sam didn't feel ready to move yet. The door was open, but he didn't hear any movement down the hall.

Sam kept his hand pressed to his side and tried to focus his bleary eyes until he could read the clock. Almost nine am. He closed his eyes again and tried to think back. The trip from the last hotel to home was foggy. It had been awful, that was the main thing he remembered. His side had been hurting the entire time despite the painkillers and he'd been so tired that being able to even _sort of_ lie down had been worth settling in the cramped backseat. It had felt like the trip would never end.

And then there had been the last little pit stop. The one where he'd struggled out of his drug and pain-induced stupor when he'd realized his brother was heaving onto the pavement. Sam had forced himself to move, to find the bottle of water, to do what pathetically little he could to help his suffering brother. They hadn't spoken a word; neither feeling up to trying to discuss - or deny - the fact Dean wasn't feeling well. Once they'd made it to the bunker, the trip to his bed had depleted Sam's reserves to the point he'd forgotten all about it until now.

Yawning, he rubbed a hand over his forehead and wondered if he should bring it up or leave things be. The trip had been difficult for both of them. Dean had told him nothing but his ribs were injured and Sam had believed him even though he knew something else was bothering his brother. Probably something he should confront him about at some point.

But not right now.

Right now, he had a dull headache. Dull, but unpleasant and he looked back over at the desk. Blanket and something for the pain. Those were literally the only things he wanted in the world right now and they seemed so out of reach.

Shifting slightly, Sam tried to decide if it was worth the effort. Before he'd made up his mind, his hand bumped into something on the bed next to him and his problem was solved. Smiling, he picked up his phone and texted his brother. It only took a few seconds before he received a reply.

 _B rite there._

Sam dropped the phone next to him and waited. Dean's footsteps weren't rushed, but it didn't take long before he appeared in the doorway.

"Hey," Dean said, stepping into the room. "How're you feeling?"

"Cold."

Dean went for the blanket immediately. "Ok. Here. But thermometer next."

Sam nodded, letting Dean spread the blanket out. When he turned back to the desk for the thermometer, Sam pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Dean raised an eyebrow when he turned around. "You want another one?"

"Maybe." Sam took the thermometer when Dean held it out. He took a quick peek at it when it beeped, but the light was too dim and his eyes were too tired to make out the numbers. Handing it to his brother, he asked, "What's the verdict?"

Dean's expression was answer in and of itself, but he said, "It's higher than it was when you went to bed last night."

"I'm freezing." Sam tucked his arm back under the blanket.

"Yeah, well I got news for you. You're not freezing. I could fry an egg on your head."

Sam shivered despite the discussion of how hot he really was.

Dean studied him for a minute, then asked, "You think you can eat?"

Eating didn't sound good at all, but Sam knew he should probably try. He shrugged.

Rolling his eyes, Dean said, "I'll be right back."

By the time he returned, Sam was half-asleep again. It took some convincing to motivate him to move from his cozy cocoon. Dean helped him sit up and Sam was grateful he'd kept the menu simple. The toast and scrambled eggs went down easily and the painkillers for dessert made it all seem worthwhile.

"If that settles ok, we can try for something else later," Dean said, setting the plate aside. "Got you some popsicles and me some pie."

Sam returned his smile. "Thanks."

Dean grinned, looking extremely pleased with himself despite the all too obvious exhaustion marring his features. "What can I say, Sammy? You have an awesome big brother."

And he really did. It must have been the fever making him more emotional than usual, but Sam couldn't help himself from saying, "You are awesome."

"Why, thank you."

Sam wondered if he should worry about over-inflating his brother's ego, then decided in this case, it was deserved. Dean had been awesome every step of the way. And he needed to tell him that, but he was starting to find it difficult to concentrate.

"Sammy? Go back to sleep, ok?" Dean's voice was soft as he helped settle him back against the pillows. "I'll check on you in a bit."

He might have replied to his brother, or maybe he'd just imagined it. Either way, Sam followed his brother's instruction and fell back to sleep.

* * *

The teasing mood evaporated as soon as he saw his brother close his eyes. Dean was relieved he'd been awake and able to eat something, but he didn't like the fever or the way Sam looked less like he'd fallen asleep and more like he'd just passed out.

Sighing, Dean left the room. For a moment, he hovered in the hallway, uncertain what he needed to do. Knowing he should try to eat something, Dean returned to the kitchen and ate the rest of the scrambled eggs. He didn't have much more of an appetite than Sam did, but he choked down the eggs down anyway.

Even though he didn't have a good reason to do so, Dean found himself wandering back to his brother's bedroom. Nothing appeared to have changed since he'd walked out and he forced himself not to grab the thermometer. It was too soon and it was probably just as well he allow Sam the sleep he needed. Dean had hoped he'd be feeling better by now, but knew it was a lot to expect given the severity of the injury and the infection.

Sitting down at the desk, he opened the laptop and tried to concentrate on a bit of research but it wasn't long before he couldn't keep his eyes open.

When he woke up, Dean discovered he'd fallen asleep on the open laptop. Rubbing at his face that probably had the imprint of the keyboard on it, he glanced at the time.

Almost three in the afternoon. Half the day vanished while he slept on a laptop keyboard. No wonder his body hurt. He'd needed the rest, though, if he'd managed to fall asleep at Sam's far from comfortable desk and sleep until three. Rubbing his stiff neck and wiping drool from his chin, Dean slowly sat up.

"You better not have busted that thing."

Dean shifted at the sound of his brother's voice. Sam was studying him with narrowed eyes. Pushing the laptop closed, Dean said, "It's fine. How bout you? How long have you been awake?"

Instead of answering, Sam merely shrugged. He didn't look like he felt any better than earlier, but he'd pushed the blankets off and wasn't shivering so maybe that was a sign of improvement. Dean could only hope.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You are?"

"Yeah."

"You don't look like you can move."

Sam yawned, then said, "I can move. Slowly. But I can move."

"Uh huh." Dean remained doubtful. So far Sam hadn't moved an inch. "You feel like the fever went down?"

"I don't know."

"Sam-"

"I'm just...tired." Sam rubbed his eyes, then his hand flopped back down on his chest. "Just feel wiped out."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well you got a good reason. Look, man, you don't have to push yourself. Why don't you try to go back to sleep and-"

Sam shook his head. "Need to get up and move."

Gauging the situation, Dean relented without further discussion. He knew how difficult, how uncomfortable, it was to be in bed so much. "Ok. But take it slow."

"I'm gonna be slow," Sam said with a strained laugh. "I don't think I can be anything _but_ slow right now."

Dean's smile faded as he watched Sam pushing back the covers. He kept his hand pressed to his side, but didn't even try to hide the grimace as he moved. Stepping forward, Dean held out a hand and Sam accepted it without comment. Once he was upright, Sam wrapped his arms around himself and sat hunched over on the edge of the bed for a few minutes.

After he'd recovered a bit, he looked up and said, "I'm ok."

Knowing it was a dismissal, Dean nodded and pushed the chair back against the desk. He asked, "You need me to grab anything for you?"

Sam shook his head. "I've got it. Thanks."

"Yeah. Ok. Take it easy." He turned and headed for the door.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Where-"

"Kitchen," Dean said, turning around and studying his brother. "Coffee."

Sam nodded. "Ok. I think I'll join you when I'm done."

"I'll grab you some water."

"Thanks."

Dean waited until Sam was on his feet and looked like he would be able to stay that way, then he headed for the kitchen.

He did the dishes, settling afterwards in the library with his laptop and cup of coffee. Finally feeling like it was safe to relax, he lost himself in a few games of poker online. After a trip to the kitchen to replenish his supply of caffeine, he planned to play another game, then remembered he had new patient paperwork to fill out. Closing the laptop, Dean grabbed the paperwork. His brain was working more slowly than usual, so it took him a long time to fill out a form with a medical history more familiar to him than his own. By the time he'd finished, Dean realized there was one thing on his agenda he hadn't checked off yet.

"Sam."

Dean sat up and checked the time. And then he was on his feet and crossing the room because it had been three times as long as Sam would have needed to take a shower; even moving as slowly as he was these days. Sam had said he was intending to join him. And he hadn't, which wasn't a good thing in Dean's opinion.

Maybe everything was fine. _Probably_ everything was fine, but he couldn't take that chance. Dean hurried through the halls, and went straight for his brother's bedroom. It was the right choice.

Sam was lying on the bed, arm over his eyes, pillow over his stomach. He was dressed and didn't appear to be in any distress so Dean leaned against the doorframe and said, "Thought you were coming to the kitchen. What happened?"

"Ran out of steam."

Dean snorted, then asked, "Why didn't you holler?"

"Hurts to yell," Sam said softly, lowering his arm and drowsily looking over at Dean.

"Heard of a cell phone?"

"Couldn't reach it."

Dean frowned, stepping into the room. Sam's phone was on the bedside table. It was just far enough away to be a bit of a stretch, especially with stitches and a sore side.

Glancing back at his brother Dean asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Tired."

The way he said it made Dean feel tired. Well, more tired than he already felt. He pulled out the desk chair, Sam's gaze tracking him as he sat down.

"How 'bout you?" Sam asked, scrubbing at his eyes and valiantly attempting to look like he wasn't seconds from falling asleep.

Dean smiled. "I'm good."

"Yeah? Ribs ok?"

"Better. Couple days of ice packs and resting up here and I'll be good to go."

Sam narrowed his eyes, evaluating, then relaxed. "You seem better."

"Course I do. I'm a quick healer."

"Yeah. That must be it." Sam smiled, pulling his pillow closer and settling on his good side.

"You want to watch something?"

Smile fading, Sam stared at the wall. After a moment, he said, "Not awake enough."

"So go to sleep."

"Too awake."

This time Dean was the one smiling. "You always have been difficult. Never wanted to take a nap and then always fell asleep at the most inopportune moments."

"Since when do you say things like inopportune?" Sam mumbled, eyes closed.

"Since you hit third grade and I had to start reading the dictionary just to know what the hell you were saying to me." Dean watched Sam smile, then said, "Seriously. What're you thinking here?"

Sam took a deep breath, grimaced at the pull in his side, and asked, "How long until I can have the good stuff?"

"Awhile."

"Great."

Dean didn't know what to suggest or how to help. There was little he could do for his brother at the moment and he never liked feeling that way. "You want an ice pack?"

"No."

"Heating pad?"

Sam sighed

"I take it that's a no too, huh?"

"Dean, I don't know, ok?" There was an edge to Sam's tone. "Right now nothing...nothing sounds good."

"I know," Dean said softly, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his eyes.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Maybe the heating pad."

"Ok. I'll grab it." Dean pushed himself to his feet, hearing Sam's soft _thanks_ as he left the room.

Hurrying to the kitchen, he dug through the stuff he hadn't yet unpacked and finally came up with the heating pad. Hoping it would help, Dean turned back the way he'd come. He was surprised to see his brother standing in the doorway when he returned.

"Hey, what're you doing? I thought you were-"

"I need to take a walk." Sam pushed past him, hand on the wall for balance.

"I just grabbed the heating pad," Dean griped mildly, following his brother.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Dean kept the heating pad in his hand as they walked, uncertain what was going on. "Someplace you need to be?"

Sam shook his head, but didn't stop walking.

"So where're you going?"

"Library."

"Why?"

"Because I need to," Sam snapped at him.

"Fine, fine." Dean backed down, not wanting to start a fight. "If you need anything, let me know."

Sam finally paused forward movement and asked, "Where are you-"

"I'll be around. Organizing to be done." Dean left the heating pad on the table in the library, casually taking the new patient paperwork with him as he kept walking.

He wasn't fond of leaving his brother behind, but sensed Sam needed some time to himself. Dean had to admit he was being a little too overbearing. It was difficult not to be given the circumstances, but if he didn't watch it he was going to wind up pushing Sam's last button. And he had yet to broach the subject of the doctor's appointment.

Cringing at the thought, Dean walked away from his brother without another word and hoped for the best.

* * *

Sam watched Dean walk away. It surprised him that Dean had given up and walked away without an argument. Dean was hovering more than usual, but also being more diplomatic. It was a little disconcerting, in all honesty.

He knew Dean was treading lightly around him and Sam had to admit he'd been a little touchy at times. The pain meds left him dizzy and out of it but when they wore off he was hurting more than he wanted to admit. Between that and feeling both worthless and overwhelmed in the face of everything they needed to deal with, Sam was ready to snap.

He was sick of being in bed and sick of hurting no matter if he was resting in bed or not. Taking a walk to the library to do a little research had seemed like the best option since he didn't think he'd be able to stay in bed for even a minute longer. Pulling out a chair, Sam flipped open his notebook and the book he'd last been looking at prior to finding the werewolf hunt in Idaho. He figured he had at least a solid half hour before Dean came back to herd him to bed.

Trying to drum up some enthusiasm for his research, Sam started reading. It wasn't easy to stay focused, though, and he found his thoughts drifting frequently. Dean had said he was going to organize...something. Huh. Sam didn't know of anything they needed to organize; much less anything Dean would _voluntarily_ decide to organize.

Focusing his attention back to the book in front of him, Sam managed to focus for all of five minutes.

His thoughts drifted again. He nodded off at some point and startled awake as his forehead connected with the book in front of him. Propping his head up on his hand, Sam blinked at the book, then realized his phone was on top of the page he'd supposedly been reading.

Sam smiled.

Dean hadn't even left him alone and unsupervised for thirty minutes. Then he checked the time and realized Dean had left him alone and unsupervised for almost _two_ hours. And if that didn't explain why he felt like hell, he didn't know what would. Sitting in the hard backed chair, dozing in front of a book, for two hours was not any better for his back than lying in bed was.

He pushed himself upright a bit more, feeling the tightness in his muscles and the pull in his side. He shouldn't have been sitting up this long and it was amazing that Dean had permitted it in the first place although he'd clearly been around, given the magically appearing cell phone.

Taking another peek at the time, Sam wondered what exactly his brother was up to and how far away he was. It would be simple to text him to find out, clearly what Dean had intended by leaving the phone in front of him, but Sam needed to move. So, after another five minutes of staring at the wall, half-asleep, Sam decided to investigate.

Getting to his feet was a struggle and he couldn't quite stand up straight. Planting a hand against the table when he swayed, Sam closed his eyes and decided maybe instead of snooping on his brother, he should just go back to bed.

Forcing his eyes open, he headed back toward his bedroom and decided he would just text Dean when he was safely lying in his bed. Halfway there, he realized he could hear music up the hall. Following the music, he peered into his brother's room and smiled.

"Organizing huh?"

"Organizing," Dean said, not looking up from the comic book in his hands. He settled more comfortably against his stack of pillows and flipped the page.

"Organizing your comic book collection?"

"Yep."

 _Huh._ Well, that was news. Sam leaned against the doorframe, genuinely curious. "When did you start a comic book collection?"

"Recently."

"How recently?" They had lived in each other's pockets their entire lives but now that they officially had a place of their own and their own bedrooms, Sam guessed they both were beginning to do things the other wasn't necessarily aware of.

"A few weeks." Dean's hand went for the bag of chips next to his left thigh. An empty plate was on the nightstand along with a half-empty glass of water.

"Huh."

"Thought you were doing some research." Dean still didn't look up.

"I was. I did."

Dean finally peered at him over the top of his comic book. He was working hard to keep his overprotective streak under wraps. "Productive time?"

"Not as productive as you, apparently." Sam shifted, pressing his free hand to his side.

"So." Dean lowered the comic book. "How you doin?"

"About the same."

Dean made a face. Obviously he'd been hoping for a more positive reply.

Now that he'd said it, Sam knew it wasn't entirely accurate. Because he was feeling much, much worse, actually. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Feelin' a little unsteady…"

The comic book hit the mattress and Dean was off the bed and at his side so fast it made Sam's head spin worse than it already was spinning. But Dean's hand was at his elbow, supporting him and that made all the difference.

"Ok, come on, you're alright. Come on and sit down."

Sam allowed himself to be guided to Dean's bed and was grateful for the steadying hands that leaned him back against the headboard.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Sorry."

"You should be. I was in the middle of that comic."

Sam snorted a laugh, rubbing his eyes and resting his head back against the headboard.

"I'm gonna go get your pills."

Sam listened to him leave, grateful he didn't have to go grab the pills himself. A minute later, Dean was back, nudging him in the shoulder to wake him up a little more. Sam took the pills with a few sips of water.

"You want anything else?" Dean asked, setting the water on the end table. He glanced at his watch. "It's time you eat something. Sandwich? Soup? Crackers or-"

"We got any ice cream?" Sam asked, peering at his brother, eyes half-open.

Dean raised an eyebrow, but smiled. "Yeah."

"Ok."

"Be right back."

Sam smiled and watched his brother leave. He laboriously dragged his legs up onto the bed. Sam decided the next thing on the shopping list was a memory foam mattress for himself. No wonder Dean liked his bed so much. Deciding he might as well relax while he waited, Sam settled comfortably on his side, adjusting the pillows until he had everything just right.

With a sigh, Sam closed his eyes to wait for his ice cream.

* * *

Dean scooped the ice cream into a dish, whistling as he worked. If Sam was cranky and wandering around the bunker looking for things to do, then he was getting better. And Dean was too, if the fact his mouth was watering as he looked at the fresh blueberry pie was any indication. With a generous helping of ice cream in the bowl for his brother, and the sandwich he'd prepared earlier and left in the fridge, Dean grabbed a slice of pie for himself.

Deciding they could waste a couple hours watching a movie, Dean ran through their choices. By the time he reached his room, he'd decided _Airplane!_ would be a perfect choice. Walking through the door, though, his plans changed dramatically.

Because his brother was sound asleep on top of the covers of _his_ bed. Dean set everything down on the desk and rescued his crumpled comic book from under Sam's face. Grimacing in disgust, he wiped the drool off his comic book on the back of Sam's shirt.

"The things I put up with," Dean said softly, pulling the extra blanket up over his brother and moving the bag of chips to the desk.

After verifying Sam wasn't planning to stir anytime soon, Dean turned the light out but didn't close the door. Heading back to the kitchen, he put the sandwich back in the refrigerator and dumped the ice cream on top of his pie and sat down to enjoy his dessert while finishing his comic book.

He might have lost out on his memory foam mattress tonight, but it was worth it if Sam would be able to get another night of solid sleep. As he licked blueberry pie off his little finger, Dean decided it was time to upgrade his little brother's mattress; regardless of Sam's typical insistence that his bed was just fine.

Maybe he could bribe Sam with a new mattress to make up for the fact he was going to drag him to a doctor in the morning.

"Yeah." Dean shook his head, propping his feet up on the edge of the table and turning the page of his comic book. He snorted. "That's gonna go well."

 _tbc..._

* * *

 **:D**


	12. Chapter 12

**Good morning! Thanks for all the kind notes and encouraging words to ch 11! Haven't had the chance to reply to anyone sadly, but did get this chapter done so I wanted to get it to you ASAP! :)**

 **So this story was technically already finished last November. I just have this problem where editing a finished project turns into lets add this and add that and I find myself writing so much that a finished project of 10 chapters turns into something where I'm not even sure how many chapters it will wind up being! :) Right now, I'm not even going to give an estimate! There is an end (the same one that has been patiently waiting since last November), but I'm letting the story tell itself. One of the most important things I've learned as a writer is to honestly allow the story to tell itself even when it isn't what I've originally planned and isn't the length I'd decided upon.**

 **This chapter is 100% new material. None of this was in the original version. Almost all of it was written in the past two weeks. I didn't plot or plan any of it, I just needed to get the boys from point A to point B and they took care of it for me by having their own conversations and their own arguments and their own ways of taking care of each other. :)**

 **I truly hope you will enjoy this chapter, I totally enjoyed writing it and letting the guys do their thing. :D**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 12_**

 _Thursday morning_

"Sammy. Wakey wakey," Dean sing-songed as he poked his brother in the shoulder with a gentle finger. A _mostly_ gentle finger.

Sam didn't appreciate the prodding, though, and attempted to roll over and hide in the pillow. It took him one second to realize why the movement was a bad idea. Dean couldn't help but smile when his brother's first words were _crap, that hurts!_

"Good morning to you, too, sunshine."

"Shut up and go away," Sam mumbled, pressing a hand to his side and dragging a pillow up over his face.

"Nuh uh. No can do. You can sleep again later if you want to-"

"Then let me now-"

"- but you have to eat something and take your meds or you're gonna be miserable and not able to sleep anyway."

Dean waited, but didn't get a response. Pulling the pillow away from Sam's face earned him a sleepy, but aggravated, look and he rolled his eyes. "What, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something? No, wait, it's impossible on that mattress. You're just grumpy."

That brought Sam around. Blearily focusing up at Dean he frowned for a moment before his expression changed to one of mild embarrassment as it dawned on him where he was. Dean grinned at the sight of the flush on his brother's face; a flush that had nothing to do with fever.

"Dean, man, I'm sorry. I...what time is it?"

While the switch from irritable to mortified was amusing, Dean decided not to prolong the suffering. "It's fine. You needed the beauty rest. Although you really need a few more _weeks_ if you ever hope to take first prize in the beauty contest."

Sam ignored the comment and returned to his question. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight."

"In the morning?" Sam asked, then yawned and rubbed his eyes.

"Yes."

"All night?"

"Yep." Dean grinned. "You slept all night again. Like a baby. You needed it."

Sam frowned. "Where did you sleep?"

"Since you were slobbering on my sheets, I crashed in the spare room."

"Why didn't you use my room?"

"Too far away. In case you fell out of bed or something." He'd considered taking Sam's bed last night, then decided two nights in a row of sound sleep couldn't possibly be in the cards, so he'd chosen to stay closer. But sound, restful sleep had come easier to both of them than he'd expected. "Should've bought a baby monitor when I bought the thermometer."

"You should've just woke me up and told me to move," Sam said, struggling to sit up. "You're sick. You need the sleep as much as I do."

"I slept great, thanks for asking, and I'm not sick," Dean insisted, sensing Sam was feeling well enough for this whole _brothering_ thing to become an issue.

"You were throwing up." _Brothering._

"Not for days now." _Denial-ing;_ Dean figured he could make up words, too.

"Like a day and a half-"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Give it a rest, will ya?" Dean had to stop him before Sam asked the questions Dean was still afraid he might ask. "You aren't even all the way awake, man. Stop worrying about me and catch your breath."

To his surprise, Sam did what he told him to do. He quieted down, settled back against the pillow, and took a few slow breaths.

Dean nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Now. How're you feeling?"

"Ok."

"Mmhm? Elaborate."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "My side is throbbing nicely. I'm exhausted even though apparently I slept all night. If you keep making me talk, _I_ may throw up."

"Wow. You're whiny."

"You asked."

"I'm sorry I did," Dean said, even though he wasn't. "You really feel that crappy?"

Sam stared at the ceiling for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. No. I...can you just give me a minute?"

"Ok." Dean patted his brother's shoulder, then pushed himself to his feet and headed out of the room.

"Where're you going?"

Dean smiled, hearing the soft question from behind him. He peered back into the bedroom. "I'm going to the kitchen to get us some breakfast."

"Oh. Yeah. Ok."

"I'll be quick. Stay put."

Sam waved his hand in a _go away_ gesture and Dean headed for the kitchen. Once there, he surveyed the options and settled on eggs and toast again. Personally, he was ready for some sausage or bacon, but it sounded like maybe Sam's stomach wasn't quite up to that yet.

So he cracked the eggs into a pan and started thinking. About how he was going to broach the subject of going to a doctor. About what he was going to do when Sam said no. And then, because he didn't already have enough on his mind, Dean found himself worrying and wondering when Sam was going to ask The Question.

 _Hey, so, what did you do? When you thought I was dead? What did you do?_

Dean felt a shiver run down his spine at the memory of that conversation. He'd been a touch overwhelmed by everything after talking to Michelle. Overwhelmed and in a hurry to get them as far as humanly possible from the latest disaster. Sam hadn't believed his weak excuses and had seen through the stupid chatter for what it was: fear.

They _both_ knew Dean had thought Sam had been dead. And they _both_ knew he'd done something stupid. Thing was? Even now, days later, Dean hadn't had enough mental fortitude to come up with a lock-tight scenario for what he'd done that would keep Sam from finding out what he'd _really_ done.

He really needed to figure something out.

Soon.

* * *

Once his brother walked out of his room, Sam closed his eyes. He was prepared and willing to drift back to sleep and await his breakfast in bed. Well, most of him was, but his thoughts kept straying back to things like:

 _Is Dean really ok? He needs to tell me what's been going on with him. I need to get my head back in the game and figure something out to help Cas. There are spells for everything! And once we get Cas back, we'll focus on Amara. And Dean. Because whatever is going on between them is dangerous and I'm done standing around while evil things take my brother. It's not happening again!_

The urgency of that thought finally drove him to distraction and all plans to rest went out the window. Sam pushed himself upright and spent a minute getting the pain and dizziness under control. He finished the glass of water sitting on the nightstand, then took a deep breath and stood up. It still hurt to move, but he kept going. If he took his time and didn't try to stand straight, he could manage.

Sam put a hand to the wall and made his way to the kitchen. He was a bit surprised when Dean didn't meet him halfway. As slow as he was moving, Sam had expected the eggs to be done by now and on their way to his room. Arriving at the kitchen door, he realized the reason the eggs weren't on their way was because he wasn't the only one moving slowly.

Dean was standing in front of the stove, clearly lost in thought; or half-asleep. Every few seconds, he'd give the eggs a stir. His gaze was fixed on the wall, though, not the eggs. He didn't seem to notice when Sam walked into the kitchen.

He also hadn't noticed that the stove wasn't on.

Sam smiled despite the concern. "Dean?"

"Hm?" Dean's response was vague at first, then as if a switch had been flipped, he spun around. "What? Sam? What's going on?"

"Calm down," Sam said, holding up a hand to stave off his brother shoving him into a chair. "I'm fine. The eggs though."

"What about 'em?" Dean was standing halfway between the stove and Sam, spatula dripping onto the floor.

"I don't like them that way."

"What way? They're scrambled!"

Sam had to laugh. It pulled at his side and hurt ten times worse than even his shallow breaths did but he couldn't help it. Dean was teetering between worry and annoyance now. Easing himself down into a chair under his brother's watchful and evaluating stare, Sam pressed a hand to his side and waved at the stove with his other.

"They may be scrambled, but I prefer them to also be _cooked._ "

Dean stared at him for a moment like he couldn't process the statement. Sam grinned as realization finally hit his brother. Dean's face flushed as he walked back to the stove and flipped it on a little harder than was necessary. He dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and slammed the lever down.

"I knew the eggs seemed to be taking a long time," he muttered, without turning around.

"At least they were scrambled," Sam offered, receiving a glare from his brother.

"Har har."

"Did you salt them?"

"An angry spirit wouldn't touch 'em."

"But you didn't put _too_ much salt-"

"I put the right amount on! Alright? Not the first time I've ever scrambled eggs."

Sam considered backing down, but decided this was too great an opportunity to miss. So he said, "Maybe, but it also wouldn't be the first time you went overboard on the salt."

Dean stirred them viciously for a moment, then rested a hip against the counter and glanced at Sam. He seemed irked at first and Sam figured he probably shouldn't have been such a smart alec considering his brother was tired and not feeling well either. But then Dean smiled.

"You must be feeling better. You're back to being a pain in my ass."

Sam returned the smile. "Were you asleep on your feet there?"

"Nah. Just thinking." And it looked like the memory of whatever he'd been thinking about was bothering Dean. But he shook it off and asked, "So how are you feeling?"

"You already asked me that. I'm alright."

"Alright?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's going to hurt for awhile longer but it's not like I'm-" Sam broke off before he could say _dying._

From the expression on Dean's face, he'd heard it anyway.

Sam wished he'd never opened his mouth.

Trying to shift the attention away, he said, "The eggs are going to burn," at the exact same moment Dean said, "I made an appointment for you."

"What?" they both asked; again at the same time.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Dean turned away. He flipped the stove off and started dividing the eggs onto two plates.

Sam waited until he had the toast buttered and was sitting down across from him before he asked, "What appointment did you make?"

"Got you a follow-up with a doctor in town," Dean said, sounding like he was awaiting an explosion.

While there was part of him that wanted to give his brother the explosion he was expecting, Sam held back. Regardless of what Dean claimed, Sam knew he'd been left for dead. He _knew_ Dean had walked out of that cabin, carrying the weight of what he would view as yet another failure to protect Sam. And right now Dean was staring at his plate of eggs, not even pushing them around with his fork. His eyes were shaded and heavy, face unshaven and pale, the weight of the world and so much more pressing down on him until he seemed small.

And he should never seem small.

Dean might have lost out on being the tallest brother, but never once in his life (at least not while in his right mind), had Sam ever viewed his brother as anything other than the larger than life hero that he was; that he'd _always_ been.

Sam wanted to argue that he felt fine; but he didn't. Wanted to shoot down the idea of a doctor and get out there figuring out something to do about Cas and Amara and the devil; but he couldn't. If the situation were reversed, Sam knew he'd be trying to get Dean to go to the doctor. Dean would be arguing with him and violently opposed to the idea. Somehow, Sam figured he'd lose the argument. He wasn't sure he could win his own argument about not going to the doctor, and decided he wasn't interested in even trying.

So he picked up his fork and said, "Ok."

"Ok?"

Sam frowned at his brother's disbelieving expression, then took a split second to run his statement through the filter of his brother's mind. He came to the conclusion the only reason Dean would think he was being so agreeable was because he felt worse. Which of course, judging by his expression, was exactly what Dean was thinking.

"I'm fine," Sam said, reaching for the piece of toast and trying to be reassuring. "But you're probably right. Not a bad idea just to get a check up."

Dean studied him, eyes narrowed; searching for a lie.

Sam just ate his toast.

After a moment, Dean threw his hands up in the air with a familiar huff of annoyance. He uttered a terse, "Fine," before beginning to devour his eggs.

Sam raised an eyebrow and leaned slightly forward both to ease the pull in his side and to get a better look at his brother. And then he grinned.

"What're you doin' that for?" Dean asked, briefly making eye contact before returning his gaze to his eggs.

"Are you mad at me?" Sam couldn't help but ask. He knew he was right when Dean's face colored slightly and he hunched over his plate like he was thoroughly intrigued by the yellow fluff he'd almost forgotten to cook. Sam laughed and shook his head. "You _are_ mad at me!"

"I'm not mad at you."

"You are!"

"I'm not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Are."

"Not. Are we really doing this?" Dean looked up at him.

Sam nodded. "We are. Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm-"

"You are," Sam cut him off, thinking back to their entire conversation. Suddenly, it dawned on him. "Are you mad at me for _agreeing_ to go to the doctor?"

"No, that's stupid."

"Ha! You couldn't even make that sound sincere. You're mad at me for agreeing to go to the doctor. I thought that's what you would want."

"It is. But you don't have to be so damn agreeable about it."

"You would rather I'd have argued with you about it all the way to the exam room?"

Dean was staring at his plate again. "Yes."

"Um...why?"

"Because I just spent all that time standing in front of a cold stove stirring cold eggs trying to come up with a way to deal with the situation when you found out about the appointment and started being a contrary bitch about it!"

Sam laughed at the tirade, hearing the sound of true annoyance in his brother's voice despite the hint of a smile Dean was trying to hide. Sam asked, "So you're mad at me for _not_ being a contrary bitch?"

"Yes."

"You're an idiot." Sam was having a difficult time holding the laughter back.

"Shut up and eat your eggs."

"Why don't you try some of your arguments you were going to use on me and see if they would've really worked," Sam said, still laughing; one hand pressed tight to his side. "Go ahead. Try me."

"Moment's gone." Dean shook his head, brushing toast crumbs neatly into the middle of his plate. "Eat your breakfast."

Sam grinned. "I can't believe you're mad at me for _agreeing_ with you."

"Yeah, well, now you're just irritating me," Dean said, pushing himself to his feet. "So you're really ok with it?"

"It's not like I _want_ to go to the doctor." Sam rested an elbow on the table and watched Dean pouring two cups of coffee. "I don't want to go anywhere right now and there's so much-"

"Stop right there," Dean cut him off, bringing the cups to the table. "Everything else can wait for a few more days."

"But Cas and Amara-"

"Can take a number."

"Dean-"

Shaking his head, Dean sat down and pushed one of the cups across the table. "They can wait. We didn't have anything before we left and I doubt you came across a lead during your epic research session yesterday. You should've seen yourself. I walked by at least half a dozen times and you were just sitting there like a zombie. Drooling."

"I wasn't-"

"You were." Dean grinned, enjoying himself far too much. "Of course the best parts were when you actually talked to me."

Sam's jaw dropped. "I don't remember even seeing you come by with the phone let alone talking to you."

"When I brought out your phone, you told me you smelled pie burning."

"I did not."

"You did. Looked me straight in the eye and told me the pie was burning. You were really upset about it."

"I was probably worried you were going to burn the bunker down."

Dean's smile widened. "I told you Mrs. Claus was taking care of it and you told me she could be killed with a branch of an evergreen. I guess you assumed I went and did it because you returned to sleeping in front of your book."

"You're making this up." Sam shook his head. Dean could be pulling his leg, of course, but the truth was, he didn't remember _anything_ from when he'd been sitting at the table trying to research. It was very, terrifyingly, possible Dean wasn't lying.

"I kid you not. Next time you surfaced, you wanted to know why I hadn't done something about the bones on the display."

"What display?"

Dean shrugged. "I have no clue. I'm telling you, you were totally out of it. I thought you were stoned, but you were still waiting on the meds. I think you were just overtired and trying to be awake when you should have been sleeping in bed. You really don't remember any of this?"

"No. I remember sitting there trying to read that book. That's it."

"I tried to get you to go to bed but when you told me…" Dean's voice trailed off. "Anyway, I finally gave up. Figured you'd eventually get tired enough you'd just fall asleep."

Sam frowned. "What did I say?"

Dean looked at him, a surprising level of compassion in his voice as he said, "It was some stuff about the cage."

A chill ran through him, but Sam didn't flinch. "What stuff?"

"Sammy, let's leave it alone." Dean shook his head. "It wasn't like you gave me a lecture with a powerpoint. You said some stuff. If you don't remember it now, let's consider it a blessing ok?"

The not knowing bothered him, but the look in Dean's eyes told him remembering would be much worse. Sam swallowed, wrapping his fingers around his coffee cup. The cup was cold and he fisted his hands, pulling them away as he closed his eyes. Breathing took a bit more effort than it had earlier and he tried to focus.

He heard movement in front of him, and after a moment, Dean said, "Sam."

Forcing his eyes open, Sam watched Dean set his cup in front of him. Refilled with steaming coffee. He reached for it and wrapped both his hands around it and allowing the warmth to melt away the fear.

"Sorry," Dean said, sitting back down.

Sam nodded, but kept his eyes on the coffee.

After a moment, Dean spoke again. "The last time I checked on you, you launched into a five minute lecture on why Thor hadn't been in the second _Avengers_ movie."

Sam managed a smile at Dean's attempt to move the conversation along. He asked in spite of himself, "So why wasn't Thor in the movie?"

"Well, technically he _was_ ," Dean answered, grinning. "He was in the second _Avengers,_ remember? But he wasn't in the third Captain America movie, which was totally _Avengers Three_ in my opinion. Considering how out of it you were, I wasn't gonna even attempt to bring you up to speed on all of that."

"Probably wise."

"Yes it was. So are you curious as to what Thor was up to, according to your expert opinion?"

Sam shook his head, already feeling embarrassed enough.

Despite the negative head motion, Dean took it as a _yes_ and said, "You told me he'd gone to gank the Húsvættir that lived in our attic."

"We don't have an attic," Sam said. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Not that we've _found_ , anyway."

Dean's eyebrows rose. " _That's_ your issue? Dude you were talking to me like everything made sense but it was all batshit crazy. And I've seen you batshit crazy before so I should know."

Sam glared at him for that comment.

"The point is, we don't have anything to go on and we just got back."

"That was the point? You've been talking so much I didn't even remember there was _supposed_ to be a point." Sam smiled over his coffee cup.

Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Let's just ease up on the work till you're off the good drugs ok?"

Sam sighed. Dean was right, of course. And Sam didn't need to press the issue; he knew Dean was just as worried about Cas and the situation with Amara. No reason to belabor the point. If they weren't at their best, they weren't going to be helping anyone.

So he nodded, took a sip of the coffee, then asked, "What time's the appointment?"

"Eleven."

"You can drive-"

"Oh, I can drive?" Dean cut him off. "Was there another option? You planning to call a cab? Because _you_ are definitely not driving."

"-but you're not coming in with me," Sam finished as if he hadn't been interrupted. He decided he should lay down the law on that one before Dean decided otherwise.

Dean shrugged, settling back in his seat with an air of indifference. An air of _practiced_ indifference. One Sam could see straight through. But he wasn't going to call his brother on it this time. Dean had gone through yet another version of hell the past week. If he insisted, Sam would allow him to come into the exam room with him.

At this point, after everything Dean had been put through, Sam would probably allow him to get away with just about anything.

* * *

Dean glanced at his watch for the fifteenth time in as many seconds. Tapping his foot on the floor wasn't going to make time move slower or Sam move faster, though. Nothing, apparently, was going to make Sam move faster. They'd eaten a leisurely breakfast then Dean had enforced a mandatory nap for Sam who hadn't argued.

Forty minutes later, Dean had prodded him up from what had turned out to be a very deep sleep and Sam had limped his way toward the bathroom for what he had called "a quick shower." Of course, Sam wasn't doing anything quickly these days and the process took him three times as long as it should have.

They now had less than ten minutes left before Dean's _this is the last possible second we can leave in order to make it to the doctor's office with thirty minutes to spare._ He was one second away from shouting his brothers name at the top of his lungs when he heard the bathroom door open.

Pushing off from the table he'd been leaning against, Dean turned the corner to wait for Sam. It took a good two minutes for Sam to make it to him and Dean exercised his last remaining willpower to avoid tearing down the hall to help his brother. He knew it wouldn't be appreciated even if it was just as obvious that it was needed.

Sam had a hand braced to the side, as usual, and looked like he was in a lot of pain; also as usual. When he glanced up from his concentrated gaze at the floor, Dean got a good look at the pallor of his skin and knew he'd been sick.

"Hey," Dean said, catching his arm and halting the painstakingly slow forward movement. "What happened?"

"Eggs...shower...bit much," Sam answered, the simple answer painting a clear picture of what had happened. He was panting as he leaned against the wall.

"Need to sit for a-"

"Keep going."

"Ok then." Dean kept them moving. He snagged Sam's jacket off the back of a chair as they walked past.

They hit the road ten minutes later, which meant they'd only have a twenty minute wait at the doctor's office before the appointment. It wasn't a thirty-minute cushion, but it would have to do. The drive was silent. Dean had run out of conversational gambits within the first five minutes. He wasn't sure if Sam was sleeping or if he were just trying not to be sick again, but his eyes were closed and he was huddled against the door so Dean left him alone.

The trip from the car to the clinic waiting room wasn't as much of a challenge as Dean had expected. He dropped the paperwork off to the smiling receptionist, then joined Sam seated across the room. And then he earned a glare and eighteen minutes of silence, this time deliberate, when Sam found out they had arrived almost twenty minutes early. Dean shrugged it off and spent those eighteen minutes lost in a stack of children's magazines.

He found every single dot-to-dot masterpiece. Finishing the last one, he felt a little bad realizing he'd just taken the joy of artwork from innocent children. He didn't have long to worry about that because a door opened, and a nurse was calling Sam's name.

Dean fought the urge to hop to his feet. Sam was already making his way slowly across the room and Dean forced himself to be still. If Sam had wanted or needed assistance, he would've asked for it. And they'd already agreed he was going in by himself, so Dean turned back to the stack of magazines, hoping to find something to distract himself while-

"Hey."

He looked up at Sam's call. "Yeah?"

"Are you coming or what?" Sam asked, waiting in the doorway.

"I thought…" Dean's voice trailed off as he got to his feet.

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "I know. But you might as well come in with me. It'll save me breath later so I don't have to repeat everything the doctor said."

The nurse's pretty smile widened and Dean returned the smile, albeit a pinch nervously. Sam _was_ asking, and Dean knew him well enough to know if he didn't mean it, he wouldn't have said it.

Once Dean had reached the doorway, Sam smiled and turned to the nurse. He waved a hand toward Dean and said, "This is my paranoid big brother."

The nurse grinned. "Nice to meet you, paranoid big brother. I'm Katharine."

"Hi, Katharine," Dean said, following them through the hallway.

Katharine was cute and sweet and a lifetime ago, Dean would've been flirting with her and probably had her phone number by now. He sighed. She was a little on the young side and when exactly had he gotten so old? Sighing again, he put those thoughts out of his mind and tuned into the conversation ahead of him.

A conversation that, apparently, consisted of nothing medical; just two younger siblings bonding over paranoid elder siblings.

He kept his mouth shut even though, in defense of paranoid elder siblings everywhere, he really wanted to make the point that they were only paranoid because they had younger siblings who gave them good reasons to be paranoid.

Once they were settled in a room, Katharine ran through a litany of questions and assessments. Sam answered all her questions and Dean continued to keep his mouth shut. He listened in carefully disguised amusement as Sam told the story of their "annual camping trip" and their unfortunate encounter with some "pot growers" which resulted in the gunshot wound. As a cover story, it wasn't too bad, but there was no way Dean could keep a straight face if he so much as looked at his brother. The important thing was that the nurse didn't seem to question the story.

Katharine efficiently took Sam's pulse. blood pressure, and temperature and Dean couldn't hold himself back. "How were they?"

Sam huffed in annoyance, but didn't say anything.

"Pulse, blood pressure and respirations are all elevated," Katharine said, typing numbers into her computer, "and you're running a fever, Sam."

"That's not normal, right? After this long?"

Katharine smiled, closing her laptop. "I'll let Dr. Holley answer that question after he's had the opportunity to review everything. He'll be in with you shortly."

Despite the concern over her non-answer, Dean ignored the topic and watched her leave the room. After the door closed, he folded his arms across his chest and asked, "Pot growers?"

"I should've gone with werewolves?"

"Pot growers probably is more believable, I guess." Dean smiled, glancing at Sam. He sobered quickly. "You ok?"

Sam nodded, resting his elbow on the edge of the desk and pressing his hand to his head. "Just tired."

"When we get home you can take another nap, grandpa."

Before Sam could answer, there was a tap on the door and the doctor stepped into the room.

"Sam Winchester?" the doctor asked, glancing at them both as he closed the door behind him. Sam nodded, sitting back in his chair. The doctor sat at the desk, looking over at Dean. "You must be the paranoid older brother."

"Word travels fast around here," Dean remarked, exchanging a smile with the doctor.

"Under this particular circumstance, yes," Dr. Holley said, opening his laptop. "See, I'm _Katharine's_ paranoid big brother."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Family business, eh?"

"Something like that," Dr. Holley replied.

"Well, meet the reason I'm a paranoid big brother." Dean elbowed Sam gently. "Decided to get himself shot."

"So I heard." Dr. Holley turned his attention to Sam. "I went over the hospital discharge paperwork. From the looks of it, you were extremely lucky. Had that bullet hit you even a centimeter off from where it did, we wouldn't be talking right now."

Dean felt a familiar chill run down his spine, but kept his mouth shut as the doctor began his assessment.

"I'll have you sit up on the table here, Sam," Dr. Holley instructed, reaching for his stethoscope. "What would you rate your pain at right now?"

"Five," Sam said, pushing himself to his feet. He grimaced and pressed a hand to his side. "Maybe a six when I'm moving."

Dean snorted, but kept his mouth shut when he received a withering glare from his brother. He folded his arms across his chest and watched Sam sit down on the exam table. From the way he was moving, Dean would have estimated his pain was closer to a seven or an eight. His opinion was clearly not welcome, but he kept a close watch on the situation in front of him.

When Dr. Holley had finished listening to Sam's heart and lung sounds, he stepped back, and replaced the stethoscope around his neck. "Heart sounds are good. I can hear some mild wheezing and fluid on your lungs, though. I'll order a chest x-ray along with some blood work for you to have done before you leave today."

"Chest x-ray?" Sam asked, studiously avoiding Dean's questioning glance.

Dean didn't like the sound of x-rays. X-rays meant problems.

The doctor nodded. "The x-ray will confirm it, but I believe you have pneumonia, Sam."

"Pneumonia," Dean repeated, jumping in before Sam had the chance to say anything.

"It's not uncommon given abdominal injuries," Dr. Holley explained, glancing between them both. "Shallow breathing, pain, and extended periods in bed can all lead to pneumonia."

"Which is why he's still running a fever?"

"Very likely." Dr. Holley nodded. "I'll check the wound next, but the fever is probably due to pneumonia. I'm going to have you lay back now, Sam."

The doctor helped him lean back and get settled, then lifted his shirt and pulled back the bandage.

"Looks good. A little redness and mild swelling, but that's to be expected." Dr. Holley pressed gently around the area and Dean could see Sam tensing up. "The wound is healing well."

At least _that_ was good news, Dean thought, his mind still hung up on the potential of pneumonia. He sat through the rest of the exam silently. Dr. Holley helped Sam sit back up, then directed him to the lab for the blood draw and x-ray.

Dean spent the next fifteen minutes anxiously flipping through the outdated magazines in the rack. It suddenly occurred to him how many hands must have touched a magazine that was from five years ago, and he dropped it into the rack like a hot potato. Or a diseased rat. Rubbing his hands on his jeans, Dean stared at the hand sanitizer dispenser until he couldn't help himself. Scrubbing his hands until he was sure he was taking skin off, he had just sat back down when Sam walked back in.

"How did it go?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, sitting down with a sigh. "Not like they told me anything."

"You could've told me you have pneumonia."

"I didn't _know,_ " Sam shot back, weary, but annoyed. "I don't feel sick; I'm just tired."

Dean rubbed his forehead, then let his head lean back against the wall as he stared at the stained ceiling tiles, wondering how on Earth he could have missed this. If that woman in the grocery store hadn't mentioned the doctor, if he'd given in to the desire to simply go home instead of checking for an appointment, if, if, if, _if…_

Sam's voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts, "With your ribs, maybe you should-"

"My ribs are fine," Dean snapped, keeping his eyes focused on the ceiling. It wasn't up to Sam to sit there worrying about him.

"The hell they are. You're not breathing any deeper than I have been."

"You've been too out of it to be paying attention to how deep I have or haven't been breathing."

"Maybe you should get checked out, anyway."

"Sam, I don't have pneumonia." Dean hated saying the word. _You should've taken him to a doctor when you found him on the bathroom floor at that hotel. Or any of the five hundred times since when you knew you should have._ "I haven't been running a fever."

"Have you checked?"

"No."

"Then how do you know?" Sam's voice was now muffled.

"I just know." Dean shifted, rolling his head along the wall and studying his brother. Sam had his head resting on his arms against the desk and Dean sat forward, trying to get a look at his face. "Hey, you hanging in there?"

"Hmm."

"That's reassuring."

"Don't know why this is hittin' me so hard," Sam mumbled into his sleeve. "Should be fine by now. I've had worse."

Dean huffed a breath. He didn't want to talk - or think - about _worse._ This, in his opinion, was bad enough. And now that pneumonia had been brought up, _this_ was already worse.

He leaned closer and mussed Sam's already messy hair and said, "Let's say we ignore the obvious for a moment. Ok? Ignore it and just think about the fact you walked how many miles through the woods and took out three werewolves along the way?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So don't you think you got a right to be a little overtired? Even _without_ adding in the near-fatal gunshot wound and leaving most of your blood in the front seat of my car?"

Sam muttered something.

"What?"

"I said, it wasn't most," Sam repeated, tilting his head. "I think it was the least most of it."

A little of the tension eased up with that comment and Dean laughed. "Least most? Good grief, little brother, you're sicker than I thought if you're saying' crap like _least most_."

Sam's lips turned up in a brief smile that faded quickly, then he asked, "Can we just go?"

"It's only been a few minutes. If the doc isn't back in another five, I'll go track him down," Dean said, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "I'm not leaving until we hear what he's got to say. And we need new prescriptions for the meds. You're almost out of everything."

"I don't-"

"Yes, you do," Dean cut him off. "You do need the meds and you're gonna be taking them."

"Will you shut up? That's not what I meant."

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "It's not?"

Sam glared at him without lifting his head. "No, it's not. I was going to say, I don't feel good."

"And, what? Is that supposed to be making the headlines right now?"

"No, you big jerk." Sam pressed his forehead against his arm. "It's supposed to mean can you shut the hell up for a minute, my head is killing me."

"Sorry," Dean said, lowering his voice and hating himself all over again.

"It's ok. Can you see if they have some water or something?"

Dean's level of worry jumped. "You gonna be sick?"

"Maybe. Feel dizzy."

"Well, keep your head down and I'll go find something," Dean instructed, getting to his feet.

"Can you dial it back a bit?" Sam shifted, peering up at him. "I just need a drink of water, not a roomful of medical personnel running in here with the crash cart."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Sam groaned and said, "I knew you should've stayed in the waiting room."

"Hey, genius, you're the one who invited me."

"Regretting that now."

"Yeah?" Dean couldn't help but smirk as he headed for the door. "And if I hadn't come in with you? Who would be fetching you a glass of water as you swoon all ladylike over there?"

Sam gave him a very unladylike finger and Dean laughed as he walked out the door.

* * *

Sam didn't look up as Dean closed the door. Despite what he'd said, he was relieved Dean was with him. If for nothing else, it _was_ nice to have someone around who could go for a glass of water. He definitely didn't feel up to moving at the moment.

Faster than he'd expected, he heard the door opening and Dean's voice.

"Did you finally pass out?"

"Finally?" Sam cracked an eyelid and looked up at his brother's blurred form in front of him.

"Yeah, finally. You've looked like you were gonna keel over ever since you got outta the shower."

Sam didn't bother to disagree. He'd _felt_ like he was gonna keel over ever since the shower. But there was no way he would be keeling over anytime soon. No matter how bad the buzzing in his ears was or how much his head was swimming or…

"Sam." Dean's tone was sharp. "Focus."

"I am focusing," Sam insisted; it sounded pathetic even to him.

"You aren't. Your eyes are crossed." Dean crouched down in front of him - had to be hell on his ribs - and shook his head. "You look like you're trying to make that desk into a bed."

Sam snorted at the thought. It was too small and too uncomfortable. Reminded him of Goldilocks and the three bears...

"You're making me worry again."

"I'm ok," Sam said, making an effort to look ok and get his eyes uncrossed. He eased himself unsteadily upright until his elbows were the only part of him still touching the desk.

He had to rest his head in his hands, though, to keep it from rolling away. Sam forced himself to keep his eyes open and mostly focused. Blearily, he watched Dean resettle on the doctor's rolling stool as he opened a bottle of something. Sam expected to be forced to take a drink, but Dean just sat there studying him.

Bleary eyes or not, Sam could _feel_ the worry his brother was radiating. The whole point of not arguing about the doctor's visit and allowing Dean to accompany him had been to _decrease_ Dean's worry. It hadn't worked.

"Sam, I think-"

Cutting him off, Sam said, "This is all your fault."

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, his worry-train coming to a screeching halt as it came to the intersection of _what did I do_ and _what is he talking about._ "How is this my fault?"

"You made me come to the doctor."

"Yes. And apparently I made the right decision. But why is it my fault-"

"Because now I'm sick _and_ shot." Sam cringed at how pathetic he sounded. Of course, he felt pathetic so maybe it was ok this time.

At least it made Dean laugh a little. He smiled and said, "You were _already_ sick and shot; we just didn't know it yet."

"I hate you."

"You hate that I'm right."

"Yes."

"I just brought you a bottle of Gatorade."

"So?"

"So, you should be thanking me."

"Thanks." Sam sat up a bit straighter and accepted the bottle.

Dean nodded, hiding a yawn behind his hand.

Sam sipped the Gatorade, then leaned back in the chair and rested his head against the wall.

It was blissfully quiet for a moment before Dean spoke up again. "You ok?"

"Stop asking me that."

"Touchy." Dean pushed himself off the doctor's stool, then slumped back into the chair next to Sam. "Drink some more."

"Stop bossing me around."

"Stop acting like you're five."

Sam smiled at the quip, although he could hear the fatigue in Dean's continued attempts at humor. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Dean nodded. "Quit making this about me. I'm fine."

"You're not fine-"

"We're both breathing," Dean interrupted him. "It don't get much finer than that."

Sam couldn't argue with Dean's statement.

"Look," Dean said, leaning forward and catching his eye. "How about this? New rule. The one who loses the least most blood - which would be me this time - gets to take over the brothering duties until there is a change in status?"

"You're an idiot, but fine. I don't feel up to arguing with you, so fine."

Dean grinned like he'd been handed a pie.

Sam groaned in defeat.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! :D**


	13. Chapter 13

**Just realized this Friday is the 13th. I should've saved this chapter to post then lol! No...better now because we'll all be recovering from the SEASON PREMIERE! AHHH I can't believe it is this Thursday!**

 **Ok. So here's the chapter so you can enjoy it before we all get completely distracted by Season 13. Wow. Lot's of "13's" this week!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 13_**

The chest x-ray showed pneumonia.

It was discouraging to say the least. The doctor went through an extensive list of instructions that included things like coughing and deep breathing. Dean took the printed instructions and asked all the questions. Sam seemed to have given up on participating in the visit and allowed Dean to deal with the details. They wrapped things up then slowly made their way back to the car.

Dean glanced at his watch, and knew they had some time to kill before the new prescriptions would be ready to pick up. He started the car, deciding they might as well go find something to eat while they waited.

Suggesting lunch to his brother was an unexpected way to start an argument, but that's exactly what happened.

Sam had been acting so subdued that Dean figured all he'd care about would be getting home and into bed after a quick bite to eat. Dean really should have expected it, but he didn't. Sam still had some fight left in him and was determined to have Dean get a check-up as well. The revelation that he had pneumonia had done nothing but stoke his concern and insistence that Dean be seen by a doctor for his ribs.

The argument that ensued had been epic.

One of the most heated they'd had in recent weeks, in fact. It wasn't a good time for an argument and Dean had regretted it as soon as it had started. But they were both tired and stressed and running too long on too little; the frustration had bubbled over until they'd been shouting over each other. Sam had wound up coughing and breathless, doubled over, arm braced on the dashboard and Dean had wound up feeling like an ass for causing the coughing fit.

The argument had ended right then, of course, and Dean had parked the car at a walk-in clinic on the edge of town.

Once Sam's coughing fit had died down and Dean was satisfied he would continue breathing, he left Sam in the car and walked into the clinic without a word.

Now he was slumped in a hard backed seat in an exam room, again; head in his hands and worrying about his brother, again.

Despite arguing long and loud how he felt fine and wasn't having any trouble breathing and didn't have pneumonia, thank you very much, he'd surrendered. Sam had been more animated, and _loud_ , than he'd been in days and it had been easier to give up rather than continue to listen to his brother gasp for breath between shouts.

Glancing at his cell phone, Dean knew he should have backed down sooner. Sam hadn't fought him on going to the doctor and _he_ shouldn't have been such a jerk about getting checked out, either. They both needed a little peace of mind.

Waiting for the door to open to admit the doctor, Dean sent a quick text.

 _Still mad at me?_

The reply arrived a few moments later.

 _No._

Dean hadn't expected Sam to say no. An hour at least of continued glares and cold shoulders had been what he'd expected. Taking a deep, relieved breath, he began working on a reply when he received another text.

 _Sorry for all of that._

Backspacing, Dean changed his message. _Don't worry about it. Doctor should be in soon and we'll get some lunch then go home. Sit tight._

He didn't get a reply before the door opened and the doctor walked in. He was a little older and a lot gruffer than the doctor who had seen Sam had been. Dean didn't care. All he wanted was a quick exam and a clean bill of health.

Suffering through the exam after being as _relatively_ honest as he could be regarding his reasons for seeking care, Dean was rewarded with a _mostly_ clean bill of health that hopefully would satisfy his overly worried little brother.

His blood pressure was elevated, but considering he'd just had a shouting match with his brother, Dean figured it shouldn't count against him. The chest x-ray showed his ribs - unsurprisingly - were still broken. More importantly, though, they were healing, and he did not have pneumonia. Mentioning a recent history of a drug overdose had seemed like a poor choice, so he'd kept his mouth shut about it. All in all, except for being tired and stressed, he felt better. If his ribs were healing without issue, there was nothing more to worry about as far as he was concerned.

Strolling back out to the car with his _mostly_ clean bill of health fresh off the printer, Dean's stomach was growling and he was calculating distances to the nearest diner. Dean pulled the door open and sized up his brother. He estimated they might have enough time left to get some lunch before Sam crashed.

Barely.

"Here." Dean held out the paperwork. "I'm fine. There it is in black and white."

Sam didn't lift his head from where he was resting against the side window and he didn't reach for the paper. He glanced briefly at Dean, then asked, "What did he say?"

"Ribs are healing well." Dean dropped the papers in the seat between them and started the engine. "Not sick and no other injuries or issues. Ok?"

"Ok."

Dean studied his brother more closely at the hushed whisper. Frowning, he said, "I was gonna stop somewhere for lunch. Do you feel up to it?"

Sam closed his eyes. "Not really."

"I'll make something at home," Dean said, turning left and driving toward the pharmacy. "Just gotta pick up your meds."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam nod. A moment later, he parked in front of the building. There were times he wished they lived in a town big enough for a drive-up window at the pharmacy. Being able to sit in his car rather than stand in line behind someone coughing up the plague and in front of someone with three snot-nosed kids all whining about their throats hurting was as good as things could get.

Of course, it would be better if he didn't have to be picking up strong painkillers and a new antibiotic, Dean thought, pushing himself out of the car. He walked into the pharmacy and really, _really_ hoped there would be no snot-nosed children in the vicinity. Mercifully, there were no children and no snot and he was the only one at the pharmacy counter so it took less than five minutes to get the medications.

Back in the car, Dean dropped the packets on the seat between them, and realized Sam had picked up the paperwork while he'd been inside. Sam didn't look up as he started the car, merely kept flipping through the papers. Dean got them back on the road, and wondered what Sam was thinking.

They were back on the main road by the time Sam told him.

"Thanks. For getting checked out." Sam neatly stacked Dean's paperwork on top of his own pile. "I'm glad you're ok."

"You're welcome."

They fell into companionable silence that lasted until the final leg of their journey.

"You remember when you had the flu?" Sam asked out of the blue. "When you were twelve?"

"Uh." Dean frowned, searching for that memory. As far as he could remember, there had been nothing special about the flu when he'd been twelve. "No?"

Sam rested his elbow on the edge of the door and said, "We were stuck in that one room apartment."

 _Well, that narrows it down for me, thanks._ Dean waited for further clarification.

"The neighborhood was bad. I think Dad was as worried about someone messing with the Impala as he was about someone getting near us," Sam said, staring out the windshield. "He'd finished the hunt, but you got sick and we couldn't go anywhere."

"Ok, I sort of remember that." He'd been too miserable to pay attention to much, but the bed had been covered in the scratchiest sheets known to man and, twelve years old or not, he'd whined about the sheets endlessly. Dean glanced at his brother as they stopped at a red light. "You just reminiscing or you got a point to this?"

Sam didn't seem affected by his comment, merely continued as if he hadn't heard him at all.

"I tried to help. Whatever I could do. You were so sick and it was the first time I thought you were going to die."

"It was just the flu."

"People die from flu. I checked."

"Of course you did." Dean rolled his eyes and hit the gas as the light changed. "Nerd."

For a moment, the drive was silent, then Sam said, "You told me to get away from you."

"Yeah, because I didn't want you to get sick."

Sam shook his head. "It wasn't that. You wanted me to go away because I was pestering you."

Probably true. Dean didn't remember the event specifically but it was very possible he'd told his little brother to go away after enduring more well-intentioned pestering than he'd felt up to.

"You told me to go away and there was nowhere for me to go." Sam smiled ruefully. "Dad had made it very clear we weren't supposed to go outside without him. It was a one room apartment. Dad was in the shower. I didn't know what to do or where to go."

Thirty some years later, Dean's heart could still skip a beat at the confession and his mouth could still go dry wondering… "Where did you go?"

Sam shrugged. "Coat closet. There wasn't anywhere else."

Dean squinted against the sun as he turned down the road leading to the bunker. He was relieved to hear his brother hadn't done anything stupid, but hated that he'd pushed Sam away to the point his only refuge was a coat closet.

"Dad found me there. Asked me what was wrong. You know what he did?"

"No." Dean's fingers tightened on the wheel, fearing the answer.

"He went to the kitchen, made hot chocolate and brought it back. We sat there in the closet together. He told me you weren't really mad, just that you felt so sick you were crabby. I was still scared you were going to die and he told me you weren't. Said he'd take you to a hospital if you got worse, but that you were already starting to get better. And then he told me I was a good brother."

At least Dad hadn't screwed any of that up, Dean thought to himself. He frowned, staring at the road ahead and wondering if there were a moral to the story.

"My point is," Sam started, and Dean had a mental _uh huh, here it comes_ moment, "I was just trying to help. Then and now. You've looked bad from the moment I made it to that clinic and I'm not interested in taking chances these days. There's enough out there trying to kill us on a daily basis without allowing something like pneumonia to take _either_ of us down."

It made sense. Dean saw the logic in it. He pulled the car into the garage and said, "Ok. Well, now that we've established I'm fine, how about we focus on you again?"

"All I want to focus on is lying down."

"Lunch first," Dean said, grabbing the paperwork and medications.

Sam didn't reply, but pushed his own door open. Dean waited for him, keeping his pace slow as they made their way through the bunker.

"I'm ok," Sam said, pausing to catch his breath. "Go start cooking and I'll be there in time to sit down and eat just before the food goes cold."

"Funny."

Sam leaned against the wall. "I was being serious."

Dean sighed, taking in the exhaustion in his brother's posture. "What do you feel like eating?"

"Surprise me."

"Hope you like sushi."

"Hope you like clean-up duty, because I will puke on the kitchen floor if you serve me raw fish."

Dean patted him on the shoulder. "Just take it easy. I'll make some soup or something. And if you're gonna pass out, try not to wind up with a concussion, ok? You've used up your quota of doctor's visits for the year. The insurance premiums are gonna be through the roof."

"We don't have insurance."

"Well we should. Just be careful will ya?"

"I'll do my best."

Dean nodded and hurried up the hall. Dropping the pile of paperwork and pills on the table, he slung his jacket over the back of a chair and went for the refrigerator. He'd picked up a couple tubs of soup when he'd gone for the groceries. Heating a pre-made soup was easier than making from scratch, yet better than eating something from a can.

Whether Sam would appreciate the effort, Dean didn't know. At least he hadn't argued about trying to eat something. While the soup was in the microwave, Dean put a couple slices of bread in the toaster. By the time he heard footsteps at the door, the soup was on the table and the toast was buttered.

Dean turned and said, "Hey, look at you. Made it in time for dessert."

"As long as dessert is a handful of narcotics, I'm ok with that." Sam grimaced as he eased himself down in front of one of the bowls of soup.

"Soup first, dessert after." Dean put the plates of toast on the table and took a seat opposite his brother.

For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Sam was expending all of his energy to focus on eating which was fine with Dean because it allowed him to expend all his energy on evaluating his brother's condition. He didn't look good, but he'd definitely looked _worse._

"Do I really drool in my sleep?"

Dean nearly spit his soup across the table. Catching himself in the nick of time, he swallowed, then said, "Yeah. You do. Sometimes."

Sam shrugged, returning his attention to his soup.

"Really? You interrupted my meal to ask that and now you've got nothing else to say?"

"I was just curious." Sam yawned, then rested his head in his left hand, stirring his soup with his other.

Dean watched him for a few moments until the soup-stirring slowed almost to a stop and Sam's eyes stayed closed more than they stayed open. Smiling to himself, Dean dug through the piles of paperwork and pill bottles. Reading the instructions carefully, he gathered the correct meds then checked his brother.

Soup-stirring abandoned, Sam was watching him.

He was fading fast and Dean was suddenly concerned about the long hike back to Sam's room. Maybe he should've delivered the soup rather than expect Sam to walk all the way to the kitchen.

Setting the pills in front of him, Dean asked, "How're you doing there?"

It took a few seconds, then Sam admitted, "I don't feel good."

"I don't like how you keep saying that." And he didn't. Not at all. Dean sighed. "Take the pills. You need to lay down."

Sam nodded and slowly, really _, painfully_ slowly _,_ took the pills.

Dean tried to find some relief in the fanciful hope of the medications working fast. He stood up and held out a hand. "Let's go."

It took a lot of effort on both their parts to get Sam upright this time. He tried to stifle a groan, but Dean was close enough to hear how fast and sharp his breaths were so there was no way he could miss the sound of his brother's pain. Dean didn't hesitate to put an arm around Sam's back as soon as he was standing; or more accurately, wavering. Head lowered, Sam was breathing quick and shallow like he couldn't get enough air and the process of merely taking in air hurt and Dean was wondering how the hell he hadn't picked up on the pneumonia.

Waiting for a few seconds to see if it would help him recover, Dean cursed repeatedly in his head at the entire situation.

"I'm ok," Sam said, still sounding breathless. He pulled away. "I've got it."

Dean didn't think he did, but backed off. "You sure?"

Sam nodded, pressing his hand to his side.

"I'll check on you in a few."

This time, Sam smiled. It wasn't an annoyed smile, it was an appreciative one.

Giving him a gentle push, Dean said, "Go get some sleep."

Once Sam had left the room, Dean started the cleanup process. By the time he'd put the leftover soup away, washed the dishes, and wiped down the counters, he figured he'd earned himself the right to at least check the hallway and make sure Sam wasn't still there. A peek around the corner showed the hallway deserted and he stood there for a moment, hands on his hips.

It might get him an annoyed glance this time if he stopped by his brother's room already. Or it might not. Either way, Dean didn't care. He needed to do laundry, was ready for a nap of his own, and he wasn't going to be able to accomplish either of those tasks without ensuring his brother was in bed and at least sort of comfortable.

So he strode down the hall with purpose in case he was asked any questions. Making a point to gather the laundry from his own room first, Dean shoved it into a ball, then went to Sam's room. The door was open, the room lit with a wash of light from the hallway, and Sam was settled under the covers. His eyes slitted open and he met Dean's gaze.

"Laundry," Dean said softly, motioning at the bundle.

Sam closed his eyes and fell asleep while Dean stood there.

Grinning, Dean scrounged around the room which was a bit messier than usual. Gathering up what he found, he left the room and went for the spot they'd claimed as their laundry room. Taking more care and time than he'd ever taken at a laundromat, he separated the clothes into appropriate piles so he wouldn't overload the washing machine. He'd done that once or twice when they'd first gotten the appliances and, to put it very mildly, Sam had been furious.

It wasn't as if they'd sat down and talked about it, but somehow they'd both found their domestic roles in their new home.

Dean was in charge of the kitchen. He'd never claimed it as his and it wasn't. Everything was _theirs._ But the kitchen was his for all intents and purposes when it came to cooking and cleaning. Sam could wash the dishes, but he never did it right. He dried them on occasion, but always left them still dripping when he put them away and that was just hell on the cupboards. Dean had the pantry organized in a logical and user friendly manner. Once or twice, Sam had put the groceries away and Dean had found the items in alphabetical order.

That had been the end of Sam putting the groceries away.

The fridge was more open territory and usually hosted a bunch of green leafy stuff or weird drinks with things like _chia seeds_ in them. Dean stuck to the beer shelf.

But if the kitchen was Dean's, Sam was in charge of the laundry. Because he sorted appropriately every single time, used softener, and measured the detergent out with the precision he usually employed when measuring herbs for spells. He insisted it was to prolong the life of the appliances and Dean didn't argue with him.

The only aspect of laundry that wasn't, and had never been, Sam's forte was the ironing. It made Dean feel like he failed somewhere in raising Sam. Since they both agreed Sam was mostly incapable of ironing, Dean took it over - even if his brother liked to complain when he occasionally ironed his shirts with beer.

Grateful there was nothing he needed to iron at the moment, Dean stood in front of the washer and peeled his clothes off. A shower was next on the agenda and he was still considering a nap. He shoved every stitch of clothing into the washer even if it was overloading it a _tiny_ bit. Closing the washer, Dean headed for the shower, grateful Sam was in bed and not going to catch him running around sans clothes.

After scrubbing off the filth he was certain he'd collected at the doctor's office, Dean stood under the hot water for a few minutes, catching his breath. It was good to be home. After the past couple weeks, it was more than good. It was incredible. Ducking his head under the stream again, he closed his eyes. Home and safe. Their own home and their own beds to recover in. Years on the road, living out of motels and shabby apartments had never dimmed Dean's hope that someday they could have this: a place of their own.

And now they did.

He smiled, straightening and turning the water off. Feeling like every bit of tension had seeped out of his body, Dean stepped out of the shower. He toweled off and studied his chest in the mirror. The colorful bruises were mottled and fading although his ribs still hurt. In the grand scheme of injuries he'd endured in his lifetime, this was nothing.

As Dean dressed, he debated simply flopping down on his bed for a couple hours. The shower had revived him to the point he wasn't sure he could sleep, although he was tired enough to sit down and relax for awhile. Wandering the halls, he paused in the library, but he doubted he could focus on reading for more than a few minutes and the chairs were not exactly the most comfortable for lounging around.

So he wandered back to Sam's room, deciding to watch a movie. They'd recently invested in bluetooth headsets for the television in case someone wanted to watch a movie while someone else was interested in silence. He'd never had the chance to try the technology, so it seemed a shame not to put it to good use right now.

If he could watch a movie and not disturb his brother, the headsets were worth the money he'd paid for them.

Quietly, he peeked into Sam's room and found him still sound asleep; arms relaxed across his chest as he breathed easily. Dean tiptoed around as he turned on the tv and grabbed one of the headsets. He started to sit in the chair at the desk, but quickly changed his mind. Sam was on the far side of the bed and there was no reason Dean couldn't steal a couple pillows and make himself more comfortable.

He piled the pillows and cautiously sat down on the bed. Nothing happened, so he settled more comfortably and Sam slept through all of it. Dean smiled and turned his attention to the tv. Selecting a movie, he easily lost himself for the next two hours.

After a brief intermission where he stretched his legs and changed the loads of laundry, Dean settled back on the bed and flipped through the choices on _Netflix._ The headset was still down around his neck or he would have missed the soft sound next to him.

Instantly stilling, Dean glanced at his brother. Sam's fingers were slowly tensing into fists on his chest and he was frowning, but other than the almost inaudible murmur, he was silent. Dean kept watching and, once the tension reached Sam's shoulders and he shivered, Dean knew it was time to intervene.

"Sam?" He kept his voice soft as he squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Hey, you cold?"

At his words, Sam tilted his head toward him and nodded once. He wasn't awake, not really, but just aware enough to recognize he wasn't alone. Dean pulled the heavier blanket up from the foot of the bed and tugged it over his brother's shoulders as Sam rolled to his left and wound up mashed against Dean's side.

Smiling, Dean shook his head and merely readjusted the pillows and allowed his arm to come to rest around his brother. Rubbing his arm, Dean stared at the menu on the tv screen until the shivering died down under his hand. When he glanced down again, Sam's eyes were open but he didn't really look awake.

"Better?" Dean asked, continuing to rub Sam's arm.

Sam nodded.

"Bad dream?"

"Hmm." Sam shivered again, once, and it answered Dean's unspoken question of what the dream had been about.

The cage.

Swallowing hard, Dean ignored the topic because now was _not_ the time to talk about it. Instead, he asked, "Did I wake you up?"

Sam shook his head against the pillows; his eyes were closed again.

Dean allowed the silence to surround them as he brushed his hand over Sam's forehead. Uncomfortably warm, but not burning up. Sighing, Dean tugged the blanket around him more closely, then allowed his arm to come to rest again around his brother's shoulders.

"You don't have to stay," Sam's whisper broke the silence a moment later. "I'm fine."

"I was watchin' a movie. Who says I'm here for you?" Dean teased, even though they both knew he really was.

Sam shifted, his head bumping Dean's tender ribs. Dean grimaced but didn't make a sound. When Sam stilled, Dean asked, "You hurtin'?"

"Not too much."

"Need anything?"

"No."

Dean smiled, looking back at the tv and flipping through the options on the menu.

"You don't have to stay."

"You already said that." Dean didn't lower the remote as he searched for something to watch.

Sam sighed. "Well you don't have to."

"I know I don't have to." Dean glanced down at him, wondering if he'd missed something. "You want me to go?"

Sam shook his head, bleary gaze on the tv screen. "I just don't want you to feel like you-"

Dean groaned and moved his hand in front of his brother's mouth; cutting off whatever Sam was about to say. Dean shook his head and said, "Must you over-analyze everything? How about this? How about you shut up, lay there, be sick, and let me watch a movie in peace?"

He really should have expected it when Sam licked his hand.

Making all the appropriate grossed out noises Sam would expect, Dean wiped his hand on the blanket then selected a movie at random. Sam yawned, shifted closer, and drifted back to sleep before the opening credits were over.

Dean smiled, content to watch a movie with an overpriced bluetooth headset so his little brother could sleep.

Content that they were both safe and healing.

Sometimes it was just nice to be together.

* * *

Sam woke up to the muffled sound of Dean's phone ringing. The bed dipped as Dean rushed to silence it. Still too out of it to react, Sam lay still and listened to Dean attempting to be quiet as he hurried out to the hallway.

"Hey, Jody," Dean said, voice whisper-soft. "No, no, it's fine. Hang on a second."

There was a pause and Sam struggled to drag himself out of the mire of sleep.

"Been a rough week." Dean's voice was even softer, but he was still standing in the hall just beyond the door. "No, nothing with Cas. We...uh...we were on a case."

Sam yawned when Dean paused, presumably to listen to whatever Jody was saying.

"Idaho actually. Yeah, I know, we'll stop by you next time." Dean laughed a little at something Jody said. "Pie sounds great. We'll make it a priority."

Disinterested in moving since he was warm and comfortable, Sam lay there and listened to the conversation. Selfishly, he hoped Jody didn't need anything from them because he was in no hurry to go anywhere. It was selfish and pathetic and something he would never in a million years put into words, but he didn't want to see or be around anybody right now.

For a few more days, he wanted it to be just the two of them.

Sam tuned back into Dean's conversation when he heard him say _werewolves._

"...and they were takin' out hikers. Yeah, we did. No, it was a pack. Not really; Sam took a bullet." Dean paused for a moment, then said, "Yeah, it wasn't something we were gonna patch up in a motel room. Got him in the side. No. Yeah he had to, but they said it was minor. He was in the hospital a couple days. It wasn't good, that's for sure, but you should've seen him, Jody."

Dean launched into a detailed and enthusiastic description of Sam's heroics in taking out so many werewolves and saving Dean's life in the end. Sam couldn't help but smile. There was a lot of pride in Dean's voice as he spoke told the tale.

"Exactly! It was _Die Hard_ but with werewolves!" Dean sounded practically gleeful. There was a long pause, presumably while Jody was replying to him, then Dean said, "We just got home...yeah, he's ok. Yes, we've both been takin' it easy. No. No. Yes, I promise. We went to the doctor today."

Sam smiled again, opening his eyes and sparing a glance out the doorway where Dean was pacing. He couldn't hear a word of what Jody was saying, but every time Dean tried to say something, he seemed to get cut off so Sam assumed Jody was giving him an earful.

"Yes, mom," Dean said in a teasing tone. "I _am_ being serious. I'm taking this very seriously. He is. Yes, I know, but if I harass him any more about it, he's gonna kick me out. I know. Yeah...yeah..we will. No, it's ok. He's layin' pretty low right now. Really. If we need ya, we'll holler. Promise. Ok. Yeah? Uh...well he was asleep. Let me check."

Dean peered around the corner and Sam waved a hand for the phone.

"Guess I woke him up. Hang on a sec." Dean stepped into the room. In a dramatic stage whisper, he said, "Jody wants to make sure I'm taking good care of you. Put in a good word for me will ya? She's gonna make me a pie."

Sam smiled as he heard Jody say, "I heard that, Dean Winchester."

Dean grinned and handed over the phone.

"Jody?" Sam asked, putting the phone to his ear as Dean disappeared out of the room.

"Hi, Sam."

"Hi. How're you and the girls?"

Jody laughed. "We're all fine and if you think you're going to distract me, you're wrong. How are _you_ feeling and don't say fine because I will ignore it and your brother's protestations and drive out there right now and-"

"Alright, alright," Sam cut her off. He relaxed into the pillows and closed his eyes. "I'm not fine, but I'm a lot closer than I was. It's...uh...it's been a rough week."

"Sounds like. Dean said you had surgery?"

"Yeah. Not as bad as it all sounds-"

"But bad enough." Jody sighed. "You boys should've called. I have time off and I could've-"

"Really, Jody, we're ok. Dean's been mother-henning me within an inch of my life as it is." Sam smiled when Jody laughed again. He said, "He's been great. Honestly, you don't need to worry about me."

"I worry about _both_ of you boys."

Sam stared up at the ceiling, a warm flush spreading through him at her words.

She continued, "Is your brother taking care of himself?"

"Yeah, actually," Sam admitted, thinking back through the week. "He has. Even went and got himself checked out today."

It had only been because Sam had insisted to the point of a shouting match and shortness of breath, but he wasn't going to share those details with her.

Jody snorted. "You're joking."

"Nope. He checked out ok. Busted ribs healing, but he's ok."

"I'm glad to hear it. How about you?"

"Getting there."

"Sam?" Jody drew his name out and he knew she wasn't going to let him off easy.

Sighing, Sam closed his eyes again and said, "I'm healing."

"But? And?"

"Touch of pneumonia."

"Sam."

"What? I didn't do it on purpose!"

Jody laughed. "I know. Are you sure you boys don't need some help?"

"We appreciate the offer, honestly. But we've been taking care of each other our whole lives. I think we've got it covered."

"I know you do," Jody said, and Sam could picture her sweet smile. She went on, "Try to remember you have friends out here and it's ok to let us share some of the burden. You and Dean aren't alone in this world."

It was difficult to speak around the lump in his throat, but Sam finally managed to thank her.

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to let you go because you sound really tired. But I expect to hear from one or the other of you at least every couple of days. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ok. Get some rest, sweetie."

"Yeah, thanks. I will."

They said their goodbyes and Sam let the phone drop to his side as he basked in the joy of knowing Jody existed.

After a few minutes, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

"She promise to bake you a pie too?"

"What?" Sam forced his heavy eyes open and squinted at his brother where he was leaning against the doorjamb.

Dean folded his arms across his chest and said, "You look happy."

Sam smiled. "Jody's worried about us."

"Feels kinda nice." Dean's smile was as content and happy as Sam felt.

"Yeah."

"So."

"So?"

Dean nodded. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm feeling like I'm sick of you asking me that question." Sam rolled his eyes, thinking he should probably sit up and defend himself. But the bed was warm and the pillow fluffed just right so he shrugged. "How long did I sleep?"

"Few hours," Dean said, glancing at his watch.

"I should get up."

Dean snorted.

"I should. My back's killing me and I can't just stay in bed all the time."

"Yeah, you're not wrong." Dean was frowning and nodding and Sam knew he was in trouble now. "You need to do your exercises."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Coughing and deep breathing. You gotta get moving and not let the junk in your lungs settle," Dean explained, looking like he'd just made his mind up about something. "I need to give Baby a little TLC. You can sit there and cough."

"Sounds wonderful."

Dean grinned. "Need a hand to get there?"

"No, you go on ahead." Sam yawned. "I'll see you in about a month."

"Mmhm. I'll grab your homework, a bottle of water, and meet you in the garage."

"Coffee?"

"Water."

"Fine." Sam groaned, resting his arm over his eyes.

For a moment, there was blessed silence, then Sam heard Dean walk closer. A gentle hand nudged him in the shoulder and Dean said, "Come on. Up. You got this."

Sam wasn't sure he did, but allowed his brother to pull the covers back and ease him upright. It hurt, but not as much as before and his head didn't spin as much as it had before, either. Dean offered a hand and Sam accepted the help to get to his feet.

"You good?"

"Yeah."

Dean nodded as they reached the door. "Head to the garage. I'll be right there."

They parted ways, but Sam hadn't gone more than two steps before he thought about how much he did _not_ want to cough without a pillow. Pausing, he turned around and hollered Dean's name before he could get much further away.

"Yeah?" Dean peered around the far corner. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not coughing without my pillow."

Dean considered that for a moment, then nodded and went back to Sam's room.

Sam braced a shoulder against the wall and waited. It didn't take more than a few seconds before Dean was heading his way with….

"That's not my pillow," Sam said, staring at the one in Dean's hand.

Dean looked at the pillow, then at Sam as if he were crazy. "I got it off your bed!"

"Yeah, but it's not the one you bought me."

"I bought all the pillows in this classy joint."

"It's not the one you bought on our way home."

"Uh...it's a pillow." Dean held it up and squeezed it. "What's the difference?"

Sam gave it a squeeze too and said, "This one's too soft and I have the other one squished exactly how I need it."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say _squished._ " Dean shuddered with a disgusted expression on his face. "Fine. I'll go find your _specific_ pillow ya big baby."

He turned around, still shaking his head and muttering things Sam couldn't quite catch and probably didn't want to. Leaving his brother to it, Sam started toward the garage again. He wouldn't be setting any records for speed anytime soon, but at least he could walk without searing pain. Sam kept his hand against his side anyway because, even if it wasn't _searing,_ it still hurt with every step he took.

The pain he could manage; the fatigue was more difficult to fight. He'd just spent a few hours asleep and felt like he could sleep for a few _days._ He was also short of breath from the effort of making it this far. Pausing to catch his breath, Sam braced a shoulder on the wall outside of the laundry room. The sensation of warmth drew him inside.

The towels were stacked on the shelf above the appliances and two piles of neatly folded shirts were sitting next to them. Dean must have been in the middle of the laundry while Sam had been on the phone with Jody. Peering into the washer, he found the tub of jeans waiting to be switched to the dryer.

"Don't you dare."

Dean's voice stopped him before he'd even made the first move to reach into the washer.

Leaning against the washer, Sam looked over his shoulder and said, "I was just-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Dean shooed him away, pushing the pillow into his hand. "You're benched. Get out of my way."

"Dean, I can-"

"No. You can't."

Sam sighed and stepped back from the washer, leaning instead against the wall.

Dean shot him a narrow eyed glance, then began moving the jeans into the dryer. As he worked, he nodded toward the pillow. "That the right one?"

Looking at the pillow in his hand, Sam nodded. "Thanks."

Dean tossed the last pair of jeans into the dryer and turned it on. He studied Sam for a moment; evaluating. Then he grinned.

"Hug your pillow, Sammy," Dean said, motioning for him to step into the hall. "Time for some tender loving care."

Not bothering to clarify if Dean were referring to the car or to _him,_ Sam smiled and followed Dean to the garage.

 _tbc..._

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! I'm dashing out the door to work running incredibly late lol! Have a great day and thank you for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello everyone! Sorry for another long wait for the chapter. Life's been crazy and add to that, I've been suffering with a cold for the past week and a half. The good news is that I am over the cold. The bad news is that I have the flu now so I'm good and miserable. :D**

 **Against all odds, I'm posting the chapter today! Feel so bad I haven't thanked you all for your reviews to chapter 13. Each and every one was a great encouragement and, as always, I enjoyed your input. :)**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's very long and hopefully that makes up for the wait. Lots of brotherly chatting and reminiscing ahead.**

 **It is also the second to last chapter. :( that's right...chapter 15 will be it! I am sad to be reaching the end of this story, but I've so enjoyed the journey with you all and I'm already looking forward to posting new stories. :)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 14**_

"You're kidding, right?" Sam asked, watching as Dean unfolded the lawn chair.

Dean ignored his brother's comment and set the chair up. The chairs had been collecting dust in the corner of the garage for months and Dean was glad he'd never thrown them out. He positioned the chair near the front of the Impala where it would be perfectly within his eyeline while he worked on the car.

Pointing at the chair, Dean said, "Sit."

Sam glared. "I'm not a dog."

"Sit." Dean grinned, patting the seat of the chair. "I'll get you a treat if you're good."

"Shut up and get out of my way," Sam said, shoving at Dean without much force. He gingerly lowered himself into the chair, keeping one arm around his waist. "Happy?"

Dean wasn't happy; not with the miserable way Sam was hunched in the chair, but he nodded. "I'll go grab some water and be right back."

Sam waved a hand to shoo him away.

"Do not move."

"Dude, I just got here." Sam shook his head, looking less annoyed and more tired. He was breathing carefully and had his hand pressed to his side. "I'm not going anywhere for awhile."

Regardless of Sam's attestation he didn't intend to move, Dean hurried. Hurried to the kitchen for the water and the handouts from the doctor's office. And then he grabbed a hoodie from Sam's closet because he was only wearing a t-shirt and the garage tended to be a bit chilly. Dean could endure whatever griping Sam decided to throw at him. What he couldn't endure was his brother getting any sicker on his watch.

Dean was back in the garage in under five minutes and Sam hadn't moved.

"Here you go," Dean said, dropping the paperwork into Sam's lap. "Study your homework."

Sam glared at him again as Dean held out the hoodie, but he took it and slowly put it on. Dean set the bottle of water on the arm of the chair, then headed to the car, knowing Sam wouldn't endure much more hovering.

Tinkering under the hood while listening to his brother coughing - and cursing - in the background wasn't Dean's preferred way to pass the time. He had to admit, though, they needed the change in scenery. Being cooped up and doing nothing but watch tv was fine for awhile, but the break was welcome and it was comforting to be doing something ordinary and familiar. Dean liked being busy and having a purpose and, right now, he liked that Sam was sitting still.

Of course, Sam didn't stay still for long.

He started by peering over Dean's shoulder, asking questions about the repairs. At some point, Dean glanced up and his brother had disappeared. Mildly alarmed, he searched the garage and found Sam organizing the trunk. Deciding it was a reasonably safe task, Dean left him to it. After what he deemed a reasonable time, though, Dean pulled Sam away from the trunk and ordered him back to the lawn chair.

Sam must have been tired, because he went without argument.

For awhile, they chatted as Dean worked on the car, but whenever he failed to hold his brother's attention with trivial conversation, the kid wandered away. Each time he checked, though, Sam was merely putzing with this or that and Dean let him be since he didn't seem to be overtaxing himself.

Straightening up to stretch out the crick in his back, Dean checked the time and realized they'd been in the garage for almost two hours. Long enough that they should head back inside. He looked around for his brother and found him sitting in the passenger seat. Shifting around the open door, Dean took a closer look.

Sam had been organizing the glove compartment, but had clearly reached the limits of his endurance. He was slumped back against the seat, pale and still, as he stared up at the roof of the car.

"Did your battery finally run down?" Dean asked, leaning an arm against the door.

"Something like that," Sam answered softly, tilting his head to meet Dean's gaze.

Crouching beside him, Dean narrowed his eyes. "You don't look so good."

Sam swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "Little lightheaded."

"Stay put," Dean instructed, pushing himself upright.

He went to the lawn chair and grabbed the half-empty bottle of water. Finding a semi-clean rag, he poured some water on it, then returned to his brother's side.

"Head down," Dean said, guiding Sam forward until his head was lowered and he could settle the cool cloth on the back of his neck.

Sam rested his elbows on his knees and for a few minutes they were silent.

Leaning forward till he could get a glimpse of Sam's face, Dean asked, "Any better?"

"Yeah." Sam didn't sit up, but asked, "That the rag you use to check the oil?"

"Yep." Dean grinned, palming Sam's forehead. His grin faded. "Your fever is up again."

"Yeah."

"Yeah? That's all you've got to say?"

"What do you want me to say?" Sam straightened, pushing Dean back. He got to his feet and, one hand braced on the side of the car, started moving away. "It's not the first time I've been sick so stop making such a big deal out of everything."

The comments were unexpected, as was the sudden movement. It took a few seconds for Dean to recover from his shock and snap back into action. He strode past his brother and stopped in front of him.

Dean's eyebrows rose as he asked, "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Sam said, swaying where he stood,"but if you don't get out of my way, I will be."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Move."

Dean stepped aside, trying to gauge what was happening. He shook his head and walked alongside his brother, careful not to block his path for fear of getting in more trouble than he was in already. The situation seemed slightly surreal after how well things had been going and he wasn't sure what had caused the sudden shift in Sam's mood. Before he could even think to ask, Sam spoke up.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, ceasing forward movement and leaning a hip against the car.

"For?" Dean asked because he was honestly clueless.

"For being a jerk. For getting sick. For getting shot. For suggesting the hunt in the first place," Sam rattled off. He sounded overwhelmed by his own list. "With Cas out there and Amara and everything else it was-"

"It was the right thing to do," Dean cut in before Sam could finish. "Taking the hunt was the right thing to do and we saved-"

"One person, Dean." Sam shook his head. Exhaustion and pain left him without the ability to disguise the despair. " _One_ person."

"Hey!" Dean gripped his shoulder. "We saved more than just one person. How many people could have died if we, if _you,_ hadn't taken out that pack? Besides, you're the one who once told me even if we only saved one person, it still meant something."

Sam closed his eyes, then nodded, sinking against the car. "You're right."

"No, _you_ were right." Dean kept his hand on his brother's shoulder as he studied him. "What's going on? You got a problem or you just being a bitch because you're sick and miserable?"

Pressing a hand to his eyes, Sam laughed. He straightened a little and said, "Sorry."

Dean smiled, relieved. "Alright then, crabby-pants. Time for you to take the pills that make you pleasant to be around."

"Yes, please."

"They're on the counter in the kitchen," Dean said, pulling Sam off the car. "I'll clean up and meet you there."

"Ok." Sam slowly headed toward the door. "Don't take too long."

"Even if I take all day, I'll probably beat you to the kitchen."

"Hilarious," Sam muttered, hand to the wall as he left the garage.

Dean snorted, tossing the rag aside. He slammed the hood of the Impala and packed up a few tools. There wasn't anything he really needed to bother cleaning up, but he figured he should give his brother a head start.

He gathered the paperwork from the lawn chair and muttered, "No need to make the big baby feel worse than he already does."

"I heard that!"

Dean laughed.

* * *

Having survived the trip to the kitchen, Sam was now settled at the table, waiting for the pills to kick in and watching his brother cook.

"Smells good," Sam said, as Dean added butter to the pan and stirred the macaroni and cheese.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. "Good? It doesn't smell good, it smells fantastic."

"You're right. Fantastic."

Expression transforming from offended to proud, Dean nodded. "Damn straight."

Sam smiled. He rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes. It was quiet for all of three seconds.

"You fallin' asleep over there?"

"Hmm."

"Well don't. You need to eat."

"Smells fantastic," Sam mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

"You said that already. And it better smell fantastic. I'm here slaving over a hot stove for you."

"I'm grateful."

"As you should be."

Sam glanced up as Dean set a fresh glass of water in front of him.

"Pills kicking in yet?"

"Yeah." And oh boy, were they ever. The pain had faded and left him with the heady feeling of disconnect he hated. It was better than the pain, though.

"How ya doin' now?"

"Great." Sam took a sip of water.

"Great because you feel great?" Dean narrowed his eyes. "Or great because you want me to _think_ you feel great?"

"Will you stop overanalyzing everything? If I say great, I mean great. I'll let you know, ok?"

"Will you?"

"I will."

"Ok." Dean seemed satisfied and walked back to the stove, taking a sip of his beer.

Sam smiled again, straightening and rubbing his eyes. "You haven't made macaroni and cheese in a long time."

Dean shot him a quick glance as he scooped the macaroni out of the pan. "It's been like a month. Guess you want mac and cheese on the menu more often, eh?"

"You make good mac and cheese."

"Yes, I do." Dean grinned, setting two full plates on the table.

Sam accepted the fork Dean handed him and took a bite. He knew Dean was awaiting his verdict, so he said, "Fantastic. Just like it smells."

Dean's smile widened, then he sat down and dug into his own meal. After a minute, he frowned and said, "You know, I think mac and cheese was the first thing I ever made. Other than opening a can, or slapping some peanut butter on a piece of bread, I mean."

"Yeah, spaghettios and PB&J don't really count as a culinary success." Sam laughed, then sobered as he remembered the effort Dean had put into making their meals taste as good as he could despite their limited resources. "You always found a way to make macaroni and cheese great."

"Wasn't always easy," Dean said around a mouthful macaroni. "You were a picky eater."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I was not."

"Yes you were. Still are."

Since he knew he couldn't argue that point and win, Sam didn't bother to try. Grateful once again for his brother's ability to cook, he focused on the meal in front of him. It did taste fantastic. Dean had even gone to the effort to put some vegetables on their plates. For a few minutes they ate in silence, then Dean spoke up.

"First time you made mac and cheese, you didn't cook the noodles long enough."

"You called it crunchy mac," Sam recalled.

"It was nicer than calling it disgusting."

Sam smiled and shook his head. "It wasn't that bad."

"It was crunchy." Dean shuddered. "Macaroni is not supposed to be crunchy."

"Shut up." Sam groaned. Dean was enjoying this embarrassing memory way too much.

Dean grinned and waved his fork. "You screwed it up so bad even _Dad_ couldn't stomach it."

Glaring, Sam said, "We wound up going out for burgers so I don't know why you're bringing it up now."

"Because it's funny." Dean shoveled some more macaroni into his mouth, then said, "Of course, the crunchy mac wasn't as bad as the first time you tried to make spaghetti. I remember-"

"Speaking of firsts," Sam cut him off before Dean could drag up a new memory to embarrass him with and swiftly turned the tables, "you cheated me the other day."

Dean stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Who was your first?" Sam grinned; the drugs making him a little giddy as he turned the attention away from his failed cooking attempts. "I told you mine the other day. So spit it out."

Dean looked at him and Sam could tell he was giving it a lot of consideration. For a moment, he assumed his brother was going to brush him off, then Dean nodded and said softly, "First girl I really fell in love with was Cassie."

Sam thought back. A long way back. Missouri. The first year they'd been back on the road

together. The ghost truck. "I remember her."

"Even after all these years," Dean's tone was thoughtful, "I still can't talk about her."

"I know."

"Jess," Dean said, and Sam knew he understood.

"Yeah." Tilting his head, Sam asked, "So...Cassie was your first?"

"First?"

"Don't be dense. You know what I mean. I told you mine was Jess. Who was the first girl you slept with?"

"It wasn't Cassie."

"Ok, then who-"

"Lotus." Dean smiled, his eyes embarrassingly dreamy.

"Lotus?" Sam laughed, sparking a sharp pain in his side despite the medications. He grinned. "Are you serious? Who was she, some hippy chick?"

"Yeah. She sort of was. And you knew Lotus," Dean said, still smiling and very proud of himself. "You don't remember her?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Dude, if I knew a girl named Lotus, I think I'd remember."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. You know, you're probably right. I bet you never heard her go by Lotus. She only went by Lotus when she wasn't being all prim and proper as Miss Pffercorn."

He was glad he hadn't been taking a drink, because he would have spewed it all over the table. Sam pushed himself upright a bit more and fought back the urge to laugh. "Miss Pffercorn? My substitute teacher?"

"Yeah. See, I knew you'd remember her." Dean grinned, then sighed heavily, looking a little too smug for Sam's comfort. "Ah, Lotus. She wasn't quite so strict when she wasn't in the classroom, let me tell you. Take those glasses off and let that hair down and-"

"Wait." Sam held up a hand to interrupt what was probably a lot more detail than he'd ever wanted to know about Miss Pffercorn. He frowned and thought back. It wasn't easy given the narcotic haze his brain was floating in, but he did some rough math and remembered. "I had Miss Pffercorn-"

"Lotus-"

"I had her in eighth grade. Like end of the semester. Just before Christmas break."

Dean frowned, then shrugged. "Maybe. I don't remember what grade you were in. I just know she was the hottest substitute teacher you ever had. Mmhmm...Lotus was a _great_ teacher."

"Dean, she was my teacher and she was-"

"Hot."

Sam shook his head, a sick disbelief in the pit of his stomach quickly replacing any

amusement he might have otherwise felt. "She was...she was way older than you!"

"Eh, she wasn't that much older," Dean said, waving a hand and taking another sip of beer.

"She was in her twenties or something."

"She was in her _thirties!"_ Sam stared in shock at his brother. "You were seventeen!"

"Was almost eighteen." Dean frowned. "What's the big deal? I got lucky. In more ways than one."

Sam took in Dean's grin and satisfied expression. He shook his head, trying to put all of it into perspective. _Lotus Pffercorn. Of all the women for Dean to hook up with,_ Sam thought to himself. And that wasn't even what bothered him. At all. Half the guys in his class had had a crush on Miss Pffercorn. She'd been a grad student. Gorgeous and nice to everyone. She'd worn her hair up in a bun and Sam did remember the glasses.

He'd thought she looked like a librarian, but since he already had a crush on Elizabeth, the library aide who worked Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, Sam hadn't really paid any attention to Miss Pffercorn. She'd always been willing to answer any question he had with his science projects, but other than that, he'd never paid her much attention except when she was lecturing.

The thought of her and his brother...Sam's hand shook as he pushed the glass of water away. Stomach turning and a new wave of lightheadedness rushing over him, he stood up.

"Sam? What's going on? What're you doing?" Dean asked. "Sit down."

One hand bracing himself on the table, Sam said, "She took advantage of you!"

Dean's eyes widened and he laughed. "I'm pretty sure we took advantage of each other."

"That's not-" Sam broke off, realizing Dean didn't have a clue why he was upset. "Dean, that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean? I don't know why you're so worked up about this? What, you had a crush on her?"

"No!"

"Yeah, I didn't think so. I thought that year you were pining over what's her name...Lindsey in the library?

"It was Elizabeth and that's not the point!"

"Yeah, Elizabeth." Dean grinned again. "She was pretty cute."

Sam shook his head and said, "You know what? Never mind. It's late and I'm beat. I'm going to bed."

* * *

Dean's eyebrows rose and he started to say something, but Sam walked out of the room before he could open his mouth. After a few minutes, Dean heard a door slam down the hall somewhere.

"What the hell?"

Dean wished he was a mind reader. Sometimes he'd been able to read his brothers mind, especially when they'd been kids. But something was going on that he was obviously missing this time around.

He finished his beer, thinking back to Lotus Pffercorn and her long blonde hair. She'd been hotter than any of the girls he'd known at the time. He couldn't even remember when they'd first run into each other, but he assumed it must have been when he was picking Sam up after classes.

He hadn't thought about her in years.

Downing another swallow of beer, he wondered where she was and if she was still hot. And then he did a little math and almost choked on his beer. Sitting up, he ran the numbers through his head again. The third time, he even used his fingers.

" _Fifty-four?_ " Dean said aloud to the empty room.

That couldn't be right, could it? Man, it made him feel old. And it also...well it _was_ just a little disturbing now that he thought about it. He wondered if maybe that was why Sam was so worked up about the whole thing. Dean hadn't given it much thought at all. And certainly not when they'd hooked up. But now he was a little bit shocked to think she'd been almost twice his age.

At the time age had been just a number to him and he hadn't cared how old she was. She was smokin' hot and she was interested in him. Everyone had been interested in _her,_ but he hadn't expected her to take any interest in _him._ But she had. And Dad had been gone for a few weeks and Sam had been studying late almost every night at the library. Maybe it had been because of Elizabeth. Maybe it had just been that he was such an overachiever he'd _wanted_ to study all night.

Either way, it had left Dean with a bit more free time on his hands than he usually had. And he'd found himself spending most of his free time with Lotus. Most evenings, in fact. Unless he was working a shift at the lumber yard where he'd managed to get a part time job to earn some cash to put food on the table, he'd been with Lotus. Until he had to leave to pick Sam up from the library at closing time, Dean had been with her.

Shaking himself out of his memories, Dean stood up and debated whether he should go clean the kitchen or leave it for tomorrow and go to bed. Neither thought appealed and he suddenly felt the need to do some target practice.

He was puzzled over Sam's reaction.

It didn't make a lot of sense. Sam hadn't ever asked for details on Dean's hook-ups and hadn't ever seemed particularly bothered by them. But maybe the thought of Dean hooking with one of his teachers was creeping him out.

Whatever Sam's issue was, Dean knew he wasn't going to be likely to get the details until Sam was ready to bring it up again. He'd looked frustrated and upset and like he had the most complicated puzzle in the world to work through. Much as Dean wanted to deal with whatever was bothering his brother about the whole Lotus Pffercorn thing, he decided to ignore the situation and maybe it would go away.

* * *

Sam lay on his bed, hand pressed to his side. The light was still on, but he hadn't felt strong enough to get up and turn it off. Not for three hours. Three hours while he'd lain there, head spinning as he tried to puzzle through something that was far more complicated than his brother seemed to realize.

"Lotus," Sam whispered, pressing his free hand over his eyes.

The entire situation disturbed and angered him. Dean's obliviousness, though, left him wanting to track Lotus down and make sure she spent the rest of her life in jail. Dean didn't see it, but Sam saw it for what it was. She'd taken advantage of him and it made Sam sick to his stomach even if Dean didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

Dean had spent his entire childhood, his entire _life,_ protecting Sam. Who had been there to protect Dean? Sure, their dad had protected them both on hunts and in between hunts when they'd been younger. But he'd also left them alone way too much. Dean had taken up the slack and protected Sam from bullies and monsters and everything in between.

Sam had grown up thinking Dean was invulnerable. A superhero. He'd grown up thinking Dean knew everything and had everything under control. Dean had been cool. He'd been strong and invincible. As long as his brother had been around, Sam had always felt safe and protected.

With age came maturity and Sam had long ago begun to realize how much Dean had sacrificed to keep him safe and protected.

But there hadn't been anyone there to keep _Dean_ safe and protected.

Sam opened his eyes and stared blindly at the ceiling. It had happened so long ago. Dean clearly wasn't bothered by it. There was nothing that could be done about it so the logical thing would be to drop the subject. It wasn't going to be that easy, though.

A dull, pounding headache throbbed behind his eyes. He knew he needed to sleep but there was no chance of it now with the way his mind was racing.

So he forced himself upright. Dragged himself to his feet. Slowly walked back to the kitchen. And then hesitated in the doorway as he surveyed the scene before him. Dean had been busy. A row of guns was neatly arranged along a towel on the table. Empty boxes of ammo were piled on the floor and there was a faint scent of gun oil in the air. Dean stood at the sink, whistling tunelessly as he washed the dishes. Sam leaned against the doorframe and watched him.

He'd probably never be able to put it into words because they'd both die of the embarrassment of such a sappy admission, but nothing made Sam quite as happy these days as seeing Dean in the kitchen did. Because being in the kitchen made _Dean_ happy.

Sam had teased him a little at the beginning for being such a good little housewife but the teasing hadn't lasted long. For one thing, Dean hadn't ever seemed bothered by the teasing. For another, Sam was enjoying home cooked meals from their _own_ kitchen. So he'd stopped teasing and Dean had kept cooking.

The library might have been _his_ domain and, by now, Dean knew better than to rearrange the shelves, but the kitchen was Dean's pride and joy and Sam knew he was a privileged guest.

It was utilitarian. Cold and ugly. They'd never bothered to buy new dishes although they had been forced to pick up a few extra spoons when they discovered the Men of Letters, for some reason, only had three spoons. Even if it wasn't the nicest kitchen in the world, Dean took care of it as if it were. He took care of it almost as well as he took care of his car.

 _Almost as well as he takes care of me,_ Sam thought to himself with a half smile.

Watching the domestic scene before him, he couldn't help but think of Lotus again. Couldn't help but wonder if there were other situations like that from their childhood he'd been blissfully ignorant of. Dean had always taken the heaviest load. Always shielded Sam from monsters and bullies, and their father. He knew Dean had always taken the brunt of... _everything._

Dean had been beat up by bullies, injured on hunts, left out from school events, excluded from normal life and neglected by their father. He'd grown up way too fast. Had responsibilities put on his shoulders that _never_ should have been his to bear.

Sam had grown up under the loving protection of his big brother and worshipped him as a hero without ever truly understanding what a heavy price Dean had paid for that title.

Watching him now, up to his elbows in soap suds as he washed their dishes, Sam wished there was a way he could express that to his brother. Wished he could make Dean understand why he was so angry about the Lotus Pffercorn thing. He wasn't sure he would ever be successful because Dean had spent so much of his life thinking he was worthless and unimportant. Even after all these years, after all the things Dean had done, had survived, had _triumphed_ over, Sam wasn't sure he'd ever be able to make him understand.

Dean saw value in his car, his kitchen, and his little brother, but he never saw it in himself.

Thoughts returning to the recent hunt, Sam knew without a shadow of a doubt that Dean had done something stupid while they'd been apart. The heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach had been there since their conversation right outside the clinic and was only deepening by the moment. There was no way Dean hadn't done _something._ Sam had learned long ago that his brother would do anything for him. Absolutely anything.

Dean had been all but consumed by the Mark of Cain, yet he'd killed Death himself rather than hurt Sam.

There was _no_ way he hadn't done something crazy when he'd thought Sam had died in that cabin. Dean had lied to his face when he'd said he'd known Sam hadn't been dead. Sam had let it go at the time because he hadn't really felt up to pursuing the topic and winding up in a shouting match when he found out what Dean had done. He still wasn't sure he was up to it, but now, with the entire Lotus situation on his mind, Sam wasn't sure he would be able to ignore it forever.

"Sam?"

He heard his brother's voice, and the concern, but Sam couldn't answer. To be honest, he felt a little disconnected from the world at the moment. His head was spinning and he couldn't remember when he started feeling so bad. Or when he'd closed his eyes.

"Come on. Open your eyes." Dean's voice was closer, right at his side, and a wet, soapy hand was on his arm. "You need to sit down. Open your eyes."

Taking a shaky breath, Sam forced his eyes open. He was still pressed up against the door frame, but knew Dean was right. His legs weren't going to hold him up much longer. Despite the fact that Dean's hands were wet, Sam didn't comment or fight him. Dean wrapped an arm around him and guided him to a seat. Gratefully sinking into it, Sam leaned on the table while keeping his other hand against his side.

Dean was crouching in front of him, the carefree demeanor of mere moments ago gone. Sam hated that he'd disturbed his brother and hated that, yet again, Dean was focusing on _him._

"What's going on? You should've said something," Dean said, frowning as he looked him up and down. "You hurtin'?"

"A little. It's not that bad." Sam wanted to, but couldn't, force a reassuring smile on his face.

"Stay there." Dean was on his feet, wiping his still dripping hands on his shirt as he went for the counter. A freshly washed glass was filled with water, then he was back before Sam could even protest. He held out a couple pills. "Here."

Sam knew they were the heavy duty pills and it was really too soon for them, but he took them anyway because _everything_ was hurting. Maybe if the pain in his body went away, so would the pain in his heart and mind.

Dean sat down across from him and asked, "You feel like you're runnin' a fever?"

"I don't think so."

Dean looked relieved. He tapped his thumb on the tabletop, holding Sam's gaze. Assessing. After a moment, he asked, "You need anything else?"

"No."

"You should go back to bed and try to sleep. You look terrible."

Sam sighed. He didn't want to try to sleep because he knew he wouldn't be successful. Dean studied him for a moment longer, then pushed himself up and returned to the dishes. He wasn't whistling any more, but he still seemed to be enjoying himself. After a few minutes, he spoke up.

"Tell me what's bugging you."

It was a bit of a surprise, Sam thought, that Dean would give him an opportunity like this. He wasn't sure how to proceed. But Dean had his back to him and was busy so maybe it wouldn't be that difficult.

Sam took another sip of water, then set it aside and stared at his brother's back as he said quietly, "She had no right, Dean."

Dean didn't turn, but he did pause in his dishwashing for a moment. "That's what you're so upset about? What you've been stewing about?"

Sighing, Sam looked away. He knew this wasn't going to be easy.

"Sam, it's not that big of a deal, ok?"

"Yes it is!"

His outburst had been enough to startle his brother. Dean turned, hands dripping and eyebrows raised. After a moment, he asked, "Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah. Why's it such a big deal? It was a long time ago. I had a fling with an older woman." Dean smirked, then shrugged. "I don't get why this is such-"

"It's a big deal to me, ok?"

"But _why?_ I don't get it, ok? So you gotta explain it."

Sam took a slow breath, then said, "She took advantage of you. I know you don't see it that way. But you gotta look at it the way I do. You just see it that a hot woman took an interest in you and you had some good times."

"Exactly." Dean grinned shamelessly.

"That's not how I see it."

"Obviously. So spit it out. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that she had no right. You were a kid. A _kid,_ Dean," Sam said, trying his hardest to get through to his brother. "It shouldn't have happened."

Dean shook his head, leaning back against the sink. Shoulders tense, he said, "I wasn't a kid."

Running his hand over his face, Sam sighed. "You were-"

"I was _never_ a kid!" This time Dean was the one shouting.

Sam flinched.

"I was never a kid. I didn't have that chance. I had to grow up." Dean's voice was still raised and now he looked as angry as Sam felt. "So yeah, it wasn't ideal. Yeah, it probably shouldn't have happened. But it did and it's been like twenty years so why can't you just leave it alone?"

"Because I _hate_ that she did that to you!" Sam couldn't hold back; his heart was pounding in his ears and he felt sick. "I hate that you had to grow up like that. I hate that Dad did this to you. That Dad didn't protect you like you protected me-"

"Sam-"

"Dad didn't protect you and I couldn't either," Sam said, voice breaking unexpectedly.

"Hey." Dean shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "It wasn't on you. You weren't supposed to protect me. I appreciate your concern and how seriously you're taking all of this, but I made the choice, ok? I made the choice. She didn't force me."

Dean's assurance made him feel a little better. Not much, but a little. Sam nodded and said, "I believe you. But it still shouldn't have happened."

Wiping his hands on a towel, Dean nodded. He dropped the towel on the counter and sat back down at the table. "Dad screwed up."

"Yeah. He did. He put too much on you." Sam was aware this was becoming about so much more than Lotus Pffercorn. "You should _never_ have gone through what you did. Dad made you into a soldier. He _made_ you protect me and-"

"Hold up," Dean interrupted him sharply. "For the record, I did all of it _for_ you. Not because of you or because Dad wanted me to or told me to or for any other reason. Yeah, we're screwed up big time. Have been...maybe forever. I don't know. But I guess I'm at the point where I don't think it's such a bad thing. You've always been my reason. For everything I do or don't do. I know we don't talk about stuff like this, but you need to understand."

They definitely didn't talk about stuff like this and Sam was shocked they were talking about it now. He stared at his brother, amazed at how seriously Dean was taking this. There was a depth of understanding in Dean's eyes that Sam hadn't expected.

"I don't know how to do anything else. How to be anything else. Ok? I don't know who I am without you," Dean confessed, still meeting his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed; his cheeks and ears were a faint pink. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't know what I'd do without you, Sammy. Sure, a psychiatrist or whatever would have a heyday with us but they don't know, they don't understand what we've been through together. Maybe we're co-dependent, but you're the only one I _can_ depend on."

Sam nodded.

Dean smiled a bit, then said, "I'm sorry the whole thing with your teacher is bothering you so much. And I'm trying to understand where you're coming from. If it had been _you,_ I probably would've killed her."

The thought made Sam smile because he _knew_ Dean would have gone ballistic if it had happened to him.

"So I get it," Dean continued. "Was it ideal? No. Was it right? No. But she didn't force me. I wanted to be with her. So I was. And I need you to let it go, ok?"

"Ok." Sam didn't feel a lot better about the situation, but knowing his brother was at least recognizing where he was coming from helped.

"Good." Dean nodded, then he sat forward and rested his arms on the table. "Same goes for this whole thing back in Idaho."

The world seemed to slow to a stop. Sam braced both hands on the table and took a controlled breath that did nothing to control the anxiety Dean's words sparked in his chest.

Dean took a controlled breath of his own, then said, "I know you know that I...that I thought you were...dead. Back there. I did. I'm sorry, but I did."

It sounded as if it was still breaking his heart.

Dean sighed, cleared his throat, then said, "And yes, I did something stupid."

Sam's mouth went dry. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it; hadn't _known._ His stomach turned inside out and a wave of heat washed over him. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Head down. Now." Dean was already at his side, guiding him until his head was hanging over his knees. "Breathe through it. Breathe."

It wasn't easy, but slowly the nausea faded to a more manageable level. He didn't feel strong enough to lift his head, though. Not after hearing the latest revelation from his brother.

"I'm sorry." Dean was still at his side, hand on the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."

Sam didn't know how to respond.

Dean took a shaky breath, then said softly, "What I did back there...it didn't work, ok? And...uh...no one got hurt and I'm not gonna go into details because it doesn't matter now. You wouldn't like it and you don't have to like it. It's behind us so you need to leave it alone."

A hundred scenarios ran through Sam's mind; every single scenario a vivid nightmare. Whatever Dean had done, Sam could imagine himself doing it and so much worse.

"Sam? Talk to me." Dean squeezed his neck and asked, "Are you hearing me?"

He was, but Sam didn't dare open his mouth yet to say so. Instead, he nodded slowly.

Dean sighed and Sam glanced at him. He looked as wrung out as Sam felt. Reaching out, Sam gripped his brother's shirt and cautiously pulled himself upright. Dean made sure he was stable with one arm braced on the table before he moved away.

Shifting until he had both arms resting on the table, Sam watched Dean fill the glass of water up again, then nudge it into his hand.

"Come on, take a sip."

Sam cautiously did as he was told. The water settled better than Dean's words had. Setting the glass down, Sam cleared his throat and said, "I'm not surprised."

Dean sighed again and dropped back into the seat across from him, running a hand through his hair. "Sam-"

"Shut up for a minute, will you?'

Dean raised an eyebrow, but held up his hands and nodded.

"I'm not surprised by what you said. I figured you tried something."

"I'm not telling you-"

"And I'm not going to ask you to," Sam cut him off. "I'm not. I don't wanna know."

Dean snorted.

Sam smiled briefly, then said, "A few years ago, yes, I would've wanted to know. But now? I don't want to know how close I came to losing you. I can't-" Sam broke off, taking a shaky breath. "I can't go there. Not again. But you need to realize that you aren't the only one."

"Only one?" Dean raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Yeah, you're not the only one who gets to worry." Sam heard Dean's sigh and knew he had to keep going or risk never getting his point across. "Why do you act like it's only your job? That _you're_ the only one who gets to worry."

"Because it is." Dean's voice was low and Sam could tell he didn't like this conversation. "It _is_ my job. It always has been and -"

"Well, it's not fair and it's not right," Sam cut him off, glad to see Dean's eyes widen as his words sputtered to a stop. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me? All these years, all this time, _you_ get to worry and you get to protect and help and do everything for me, but whenever I try, you shut me out."

Dean frowned and shook his head, but Sam kept going before he could say anything. "Dean, you said it yourself, we're screwed up. _Dad_ screwed us up. This life screwed us up. Trust me, I've had a lot of time to think about this and, yeah, I know he did try. And he never meant for this life to destroy...what could have been. But it did. And _he_ put this on you. Making you feel like it was your job to look out for me and-"

This time Dean was the one who cut him off. Eyes blazing, Dean leaned forward again and said, "It _is_ my job."

Sam felt the fire in his words and it took his breath away. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. He hadn't wanted to start a fight, for crying out loud. He'd just wanted to make Dean understand. Sam held his breath, while Dean stared at him, the fire still bright in his eyes. After a minute passed in silence, Dean relaxed to a degree.

He rested his elbows on the table and repeated softly, "It's my job."

"And that gives you the right to be the only one in this family who gets to worry or try to protect the other?" Sam asked, shaking his head. "I don't want to be your job. I want to be your brother."

"Don't be stupid," Dean said, some of that fire already flaring up again. "You think you're not my brother? I do all of this _because_ you're my brother."

"Do you?" Sam asked quietly, expecting to get shouted at.

Instead, the fight went out of his brother and Dean shook his head like he couldn't understand what was going on. After a moment, he said, "Yes."

"Ok. Well, can't you see that it goes both ways? Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I do the same thing? That I want what's best for you and I hate everything that's been done to you? I hate that you lost your entire childhood raising me. That Dad wasn't there to protect you when he should have been."

"Where's all this coming from?" Dean asked softly. "Because I told you I slept with your teacher?"

"That's only part of it," Sam said, weariness weighing him down. He wished they could be having this conversation another time. Maybe when he didn't feel sick and exhausted and Dean wasn't so raw. But it was too late now.

Dean shook his head. "Well, what's the rest of it? You better spit it out fast because you look like you're about to fall over."

And Dean wasn't wrong. Already, Sam was beginning to think they were going to need to finish the conversation at a later time. The second round of pills was hitting him hard. His head was swimming and he was losing track of what he'd been trying to say.

Bracing a hand on the table, Sam said, "The rest of it is that I wish you'd stop being so damned selfish and realize you're not in this on your own, ok? Realize this family thing is a two way street and let me be here for you like you always are for me."

Dean seemed stunned, but he didn't look angry. He looked embarrassed and humbled which was a lot more than Sam had expected. Maybe he'd managed to get his point across. Sam waited for Dean to make the next move because, to be honest, he didn't have a clue what to say next and he was pretty sure he was going to pass out.

"Alright. You made your point." Dean smiled, pushing himself to his feet. The haunted look in his eyes was gone and it seemed like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders that neither of them had realized he'd been carrying. "How 'bout you wait till another day to take care of me though, huh? Right now, I feel like it might be better if I get your stupid ass to bed before you crash."

Since his brother had listened to him and seemed to _finally_ be getting the point, Sam nodded and allowed Dean to pull him to his feet.

Guiding him to the door, Dean said, "But when you're feeling better, you could do something for me."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, breathlessly. He was regretting leaving his bed in the first place and for leaving his pillow behind. The hallway was blurred and dark and, if not for his brother holding him up, he probably would be on the ground already.

"Yeah," Dean said, tightening his grip. "Clean the car up. Lots of trash under the seat. I need her washed and waxed before we go anywhere."

Sam snorted, his steps wavering. "You always make me clean out the trash from under the seat."

"Well, there you go," Dean said, grinning. "See, you've been taking care of me all this time. I don't know what you've been bitching about."

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah well, since you've been learning by my shining example all these years, I guess it means you're an idiot too."

"Probably."

"Almost there. Try not to pass out, ok? I think I strained my back lugging you around the past few days and if you puke, you're cleaning it up."

Sam groaned at the very thought and weakly tried to pull away from his brother, but - as usual - Dean wouldn't let go of him. They walked the rest of the way in silence which was good because he was having trouble catching his breath. He finally sat down on the edge of his bed and gratefully accepted the pillow Dean pressed into his hands. Closing his eyes, he curled up on his side and didn't complain when Dean pulled the covers up over him.

"You good?"

"Mmm." Good wasn't the word Sam would have used if he'd been able to form a word.

"You overdid it, Sammy."

Yes, he had.

Dean sighed, then patted his shoulder, "Get some sleep, ok? Phone's right here if you need anything."

Sam curled his fingers around his phone and listened to Dean's footsteps as he walked away. The footsteps stopped at the door and he knew his brother was lingering there. Watching him.

It would have creeped him out if it hadn't made him feel so safe.

* * *

 **What did you think? Did the conversation go the way you were expecting? Oddly enough, the entire premise of this story sprang from the situation with Dean and Lotus and how I saw imagined a revelation like that playing out between him and Sam. It just seemed to fit so perfectly with the theme and emotions of _Red Meat_ that it developed from there.**

 **Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Welcome to the final chapter! ...it makes me sad to say it as much as it probably makes you sad to read it. :(**

 **Thank you to every one who has taken the time to read the story and to those of you who have been so generous and kind to review! I hope you will enjoy this final chapter and that it will bring the story to a satisfying conclusion. :)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 15**_

Dean lingered just long enough to be certain Sam had fallen asleep, then wandered back to the kitchen. He finished the dishes while considering everything they'd discussed. It had been one of the strangest conversations they'd ever had and that was saying something.

Grabbing another beer, he wandered through the bunker, shutting off the lights and enjoying the peace and quiet.

Eventually returning the way he'd come, Dean found himself again at his brother's door.

He took a long sip of the beer and wondered where Lotus Pffercorn was today. If she was alive. If she'd ever married. If she'd remember him. At the time, it had been a thrill to be the focus of her attention. Now, though, he could see it from Sam's perspective and it was a little less thrilling in retrospect.

Just imagining if it had been Sam instead of him turned Dean's stomach and he could understand why his brother was so upset. Even twenty some years later. Because Sam had a point. Their dad hadn't been there to watch out for either of them. And Dad hadn't been there to protect _him_ from a situation that he never should have gotten into. Dean wondered, not for the first time, how their lives could have been different if they'd had a father who had been there the way he should have been.

It was pointless to think about it, though. There was no going back, no changing anything. All they could do was keep going.

Dean finished his beer there in the doorway, watching his brother sleep, then walked back to his own room. He pulled his boots off and fell into bed, fully intending to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. But his mind refused to shut down. He couldn't stop thinking about the things Sam had said.

It wasn't the first time Sam had said some of it.

Dean remembered when he'd made his deal and how Sam had tried to make him realize how unfair it was. He'd only been able to think about the fact he could never live with himself after failing to protect his brother. Sam had tried to make him understand, but he hadn't. Dean hadn't understood until he'd come back from hell and seen first hand what his own death had done to his brother.

He'd always thought Sam could go on. Could be fine. It had _never_ occurred to him - until it was too late - that maybe Sam needed him as much as he needed Sam. Dean thought back over the years and knew he had almost exclusively brushed aside any gestures of protection or caring on the part of his brother. For him, protecting Sam was the only priority and he'd always struggled to accept that Sam reciprocated the feeling.

They'd never discussed it in so much detail and he'd never understood how much it bothered Sam. Their childhood had been far from ideal and although Dean was seeing more of the issues as he looked back now, he didn't regret any of it. Sure, he'd change things if he could. Yes, he would have liked to have had more of a chance to be a kid. Sam's childhood hadn't been ideal, either, but Dean had tried. He didn't regret giving up his childhood to give Sam even the smallest bit of normalcy.

He didn't regret hiding as much of the darkness from his brother as he could for as long as possible. Didn't regret the things he'd missed out on so he could allow Sam to experience them. He didn't regret the times he'd gone without things he needed in order to provide them for his brother.

And he'd never once regretted making his deal after Cold Oak.

Sure, he viewed watching out for Sam to be his job. Because it was. But it wasn't a job he hadn't readily accepted or wanted. He _had_ accepted it gladly. But for the first time, Dean realized that Sam didn't necessarily understand all of that. And he realized that _he_ had never understood where Sam was coming from.

He'd known that Sam cared. He just hadn't realized how much he'd shut Sam out over the years. How much he'd discounted the way his brother worried about him and how protective he felt.

When they'd been joking around about their _firsts,_ Dean had never expected the topic of Lotus to cause such a disturbance. But after listening to his brother explain it, Dean was seeing everything in a new light.

If the situation had been reversed, he would have been livid. Whether he'd found out about it back when they were in their teens, or his brother had just revealed it now, Dean knew he'd be furious and rightfully so.

To have Sam be so angry about something that happened so long ago felt pretty good. It felt good because he realized how much he meant to his brother.

Dean closed his eyes. The nightmares were still lurking and heaven help him if Sam ever did find out what he'd done at that clinic. But for now, for tonight?

Dean was going to sleep.

* * *

Waking up in the morning was a relief.

Dean's sleep had been disturbed by more than one nightmare. Whether it had been Billie's face laughing at him, or Billie's hand reaching for his brother, Dean had startled awake, fear pulsing through his bones. Each time, he'd fallen back to sleep, the cumulative exhaustion of the past few weeks dragging him back down. But he felt far from rested.

He'd left the hall light on and the door open last night, so the light helped bring him back to awareness. Stretching, he yawned again, then tried to get his eyes to focus on his watch. When he finally was able to make out the time, he was instantly awake.

Because it was almost nine in the morning and he'd forgotten to set an alarm. Sam would have been due for painkillers hours ago and he'd been trying to keep him on schedule so the pain didn't get out of control. Pushing himself upright, he grabbed his phone. No texts, no messages. Cursing himself for not setting that alarm, Dean hurried out into the hall.

Reaching the other bedroom, Dean felt a little better. Sam wasn't awake and he looked comfortable. In fact, he looked like he'd never moved all night. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to be hurting when he woke up.

Yawning, Dean slowly made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of the prescription painkillers and a glass of water. Nothing had changed by the time he walked back into the bedroom.

"Sam." He sat down on the edge of the bed and nudged him in the shoulder. "Wake up."

It took longer than he would have liked, but Sam finally began to show signs of awareness. He was moving carefully, even half-asleep, and Dean could see the tension in his body and the pained expression on his face. Taking his opportunity while his brother wasn't fully awake yet, Dean brushed a hand over his forehead.

Dean breathed a little easier. No fever.

"Stop touching me," Sam mumbled sleepily. He attempted to bat Dean's hand away but wasn't coordinated enough to make contact.

Ignoring the comment, Dean tapped his shoulder again and asked, "How'd you sleep?"

Sam blinked at him slowly, obviously struggling to wake up. "What time is it?"

"What difference does it make?"

Sam lifted his hand from his chest just far enough to give a dismissive wave.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's kind of what I figured. So what're you thinkin?"

"I don't want to move."

"You feelin' worse?"

"No."

"Good. You're overdue for the happy pills." Dean waited a moment to see if there would be any protest, but Sam just stared at him, so he continued. "You gonna get up or you expect me to serve you breakfast in bed?"

"I got shot," Sam honest to goodness whined, pulling a pillow over his face.

"You are such a baby." Dean snorted and shook his head. He pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door, leaving the pills and the glass of water on the nightstand.

A pillow hit him on the back of the head as he walked out of the room and Dean was impressed with Sam's aim. He grinned all the way to the kitchen as he contemplated breakfast.

For once, they had the time to lay low. And even if there _was_ something going on out there, Dean was going to ignore it for at least another day or two. Right now, he felt like they deserved to hide out for a few more days considering they'd both nearly died.

The mere thought almost dampened his mood, but he shoved it aside and concentrated on the fact that his brother had pitched a pillow at his head. He wasn't feeling good, that was obvious, but he was whining and throwing pillows so Dean knew he was getting better.

Since he hadn't received a straight answer from his brother about how he was feeling, Dean wasn't sure what to do about breakfast. After a minute, he decided he should start with something on the boring side. So he toasted a bagel, buttered half and ate it while he buttered the other half.

Walking back into the bedroom, he found that no progress had been made whatsoever. Sam still had the pillow over his face which made the fact he'd managed to hit the back of Dean's head with another pillow that much more impressive.

Dean tapped the pillow and said, "Room service."

It took a few seconds, but Sam pushed the pillow aside and he looked so out of it that Dean wondered if he'd actually fallen back to sleep in the short time he'd been away.

"You gotta sit up." Dean set the bagel down on the edge of the desk and reached for the glass of water.

Sam stared at him for a long time, then asked, "Can you move the pillows?"

"Got it covered." Dean grabbed the one off the floor and piled it on top of the rest of the pillows.

"Where's-"

Dean held out a pillow. "Right here."

Sam pressed it to his side and slowly pushed himself upright. He made it just far enough to qualify as sitting up then collapsed into the pillows. Holding out his hand, Sam took the pills, then swallowed them with a sip of water. Dean held up the bagel.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's breakfast?"

"Hey, you want better food, you should've stayed in a classier joint," Dean said, handing him the bagel. "If that settles ok, you can pick whatever you want."

"Pancakes," Sam said before he'd even taken a bite. He smiled wearily and started eating the bagel.

"Fine, fine. Sit tight." Dean left him there and once again headed for the kitchen.

By the time he had the coffee brewing, the pancakes mixed up and bacon frying on the stove, Sam had wandered into the kitchen. Dean poured the batter out into a perfectly shaped pancake and said, "Thought you weren't gonna move."

"I'm tired of being in bed."

Dean couldn't blame him. "You want coffee?"

"Please."

Pouring them both a cup, Dean asked, "Bacon?"

"No."

Dean turned around with the coffee and found his brother with his head down on his arm on the table. Setting the coffee down next to him, Dean said, "Maybe you shouldn't be up?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah. You look it." Dean headed back to flip the pancakes.

"I need to find us a case."

Dean snorted. "You've got to be joking. You've been out of bed for less than ten minutes and you haven't managed to sit up straight yet. I'll be impressed if you can sit up enough to even log onto the laptop."

Sam didn't attempt to prove him wrong by sitting up. He just stayed where he was and mumbled into his arm, "You know, I think I feel worse because we _don't_ have anything going on right now."

Flipping a pancake, Dean had to admit he had a point. Downtime wasn't very typical even when they were injured. If they were busy, then they didn't have time to dwell on the pain and misery.

He dropped the first pancake on a plate and asked, "You want me to go dump all the paperwork out of those files you obsessively keep organized? Give you something to do."

"Touch my files and you die."

Dean laughed and set the plate on the table. "Hey, I was just tryin' to give you something to do. Here. Food."

"Syrup?"

"So needy," Dean muttered, but he went and grabbed the syrup anyway.

Setting it beside the plate, he waited, but there was no movement from his brother so he went back to the stove and finished cooking the pancakes. Piling a stack on a plate with a generous helping of bacon, Dean headed back for the table.

He ate half of his pancake stack before Sam began to straighten up. Dean munched on a slice of bacon and studied his brother. He didn't look good, but he didn't look as bad as he had yesterday, so that was something anyway. Dean nudged the syrup closer.

"Thanks." Sam doused his pancake.

"Mmhm." Dean settled back and took a sip of coffee.

For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Sam finished the pancake and Dean grabbed another one and plopped it on the puddle of syrup before Sam could say he didn't want it. He seemed a bit annoyed, but wasted no time in finishing off the second pancake.

Dean grabbed another pancake for himself and asked, "So what're you thinking?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"About what you wanna do." Dean reached for another piece of bacon. "You gonna sleep all day or you wanna binge watch _The Walking Dead_?"

"You don't think we get enough walking dead in our lives?"

Dean grinned. "So is that a no?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam took a sip of coffee. "It's not a no. But I'm gonna take a shower first."

Dean nodded, finishing his coffee. "Afterwards, I should take a look at-"

Sam put his hand against his side. "I think I can take it from here."

"Fine. But if you don't tell me if that wound starts oozing green goo and you keel over from sepsis, I'm probably going to kick your ass."

Sam grinned. "Duly noted."

"You want another pancake?"

"Not right now. Tasted good, though."

Dean nodded, proud of his pancakes. "From scratch. Not from a box."

Sam's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Box mixes don't taste as good," Dean said, pushing himself to his feet and gathering up the plates. "Can't get 'em fluffy enough."

* * *

Sam watched his brother clearing away their plates and marveled once again at the sight of his brother being so... _domestic._ The urge to tease him about it crossed his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. Because the pancakes _had_ been fluffy and tasted amazing and he wasn't going to risk the chance of Dean never making him pancakes again. So he kept his mouth shut as Dean started washing the dishes. For a few minutes, they were silent. Sam finished his coffee, feeling the painkillers kicking in.

"I'm sorry I left you there," Dean said, out of the blue.

"Where?"

"In that cabin."

Sam sighed. "You thought I was dead, man. You were trying to get them to safety."

Dean nodded, not turning around. He set a clean plate on the towel next to the sink and said, "Must've sucked. Waking up there alone."

"Oh, it wasn't bad." Sam tried to downplay the situation. "Kind of the ultimate adrenaline rush I guess."

Sam was never going to elaborate to his brother how exquisitely horrible the entire thing had been. It had been terrifying to wake up alone. Part of it was from the pain and fear from having a severe injury and knowing he was so far from help. But the worst of it had been the terror of not knowing what was happening to his brother and knowing Dean must have thought he was dead.

Dean nodded, finally turning around. He leaned back against the sink and said, "You know, sometimes I still want to give it all up. Lock the doors of the bunker and stay here. I'm sick of...everything. We've given an awful lot to the life and sometimes I wish we could get something in return. There's not a lot left we can lose."

It surprised Sam to hear Dean being so honest, but it told him how traumatic the recent events had been for his brother. He couldn't disagree, though. They _didn't_ have a lot left to give. And giving each other up had never really worked out well for either of them. But since there was no retirement plan in their future, all they could do was keep fighting.

"You're right," Sam said, after a moment of silence. "I wish we didn't have to do it. Wish we didn't have to be on a Reaper's hit list. Be in the middle of yet another global catastrophe. But it's our life. And I can't imagine doing anything else."

A small smile appeared on Dean's face and he nodded slowly. "Yeah, me neither."

Sam returned the smile and pushed himself to his feet. He was a little unsteady and, of course, Dean didn't miss it.

"You gonna make it to the shower?"

"I'll go slow."

"Dude, you got shot, nearly smothered, took out three werewolves, got out of the woods, and drove _yourself_ to the freakin' clinic," Dean said, with a mixture of pride and disbelief, "so I think you got this."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Dean started clearing off the table. "Go take your shower. I'll get Netflix queued up and make some popcorn."

Sam laughed. "Don't you think we should wait on the popcorn? We just ate breakfast."

"Never too early for popcorn. Especially when we're going to be binge watching zombies," Dean said, leaving no room for argument. "I need popcorn, man."

"Fine." Sam waved a hand as he slowly limped to the door.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're starting to worry me. You just agreed with me about popcorn after breakfast. Maybe you need to go back to the doctor. Something's obviously wrong if you're agreeing with me."

Sam turned and leaned against the door frame. He smiled and said, "We agree on a lot of stuff."

"No we don't. We don't agree on almost anything."

"We agree on the important stuff. Like this," Sam said, motioning between them. "And _this_ is what's important."

* * *

Dean wanted to make a mouthy comment about how sappy Sam was, but he couldn't. After everything in the past few days, and their conversation the previous night, it didn't feel right to joke about it. Because Sam was right. _This_ was what mattered. It was the only important thing they'd had all their lives. It was the thing that had gotten them this far. Through mountains of mistakes and heaps of bad decisions. Through pain and sorrow and laughter and fun.

They'd lost everyone they'd ever cared about and everything - save the Impala - they'd ever called their own. Dean knew they were dysfunctional. Understood what he'd done at the clinic had been unbelievably stupid. It hadn't been the first time one of them had done something unbelievably stupid to try to save the other.

And it wouldn't be the last.

The thought chilled him, but Dean knew in his heart he would never be able to _not_ to try everything and beyond to protect his brother. To save him.

"I'd do anything for you." Sam's quiet voice drew him back to the present.

Dean nodded. The knowledge warmed him and terrified him because he knew how far Sam would go. How far they'd _both_ already gone.

"But I'm not gonna clean the Impala."

Dean smiled at the teasing. He appreciated Sam's offer of a convenient out from the emotionally charged conversation they'd inadvertently struck up. He wanted to simply take it and and move on before things got any sappier. But he couldn't just let it all go that easily.

So he said, "You _will_ be cleaning the Impala. Eventually. I'll give you a couple more sick days-"

"Because I got shot."

"Yes, because you got shot." Dean rolled his eyes. Here he was trying to be serious for once and Sam wasn't letting him get it out. "But I will be taking that free pass card away if you play it too often, little brother."

Sam just smiled because they both knew better.

Dean rolled his eyes again and huffed in annoyance. Sam started to move and Dean knew it was now or never. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Just...thanks." _Well, that was so eloquent._

"For what?"

"For...not dying on me out there. And for everything...for what you said last night. Ok? I get it now. I understand where you were coming from and why the thing with Lotus was such a big deal. And...uh...thanks."

Sam studied him for a long moment, and Dean could see the emotions bright in his eyes as he mulled over those statements. Finally, he nodded and said, "You're welcome."

Dean grinned. "It's nice to know you haven't been keepin' me around all these years just for my witty humor and good looks."

"Dude, your good looks have nothing to do with me." Sam laughed, then pressed his hand against his side with a grimace. "And if you ever hook up with Miss Pffercorn again, I do _not_ want to hear about it."

Dean shuddered. "She's in her fifties. That's gross."

"You're gross," Sam said as he left the kitchen.

There was no point in arguing back. Dean grinned as he started the popcorn. Once it was ready, he went to Sam's room and turned on the tv. He channel hopped until he heard footsteps in the hall. Setting the remote aside, Dean went in search of his brother.

Sam was halfway to him, hair wet and footsteps unsteady, but he smiled as he asked, "Popcorn ready?"

"Ready." Dean nodded. "You ready for a comfy bed? Ice pack?"

"Yes, please."

And then Sam was leaning against him like he'd done all their lives and Dean smiled. He couldn't help but think back to the thousands of motel rooms, Rufus' cabin, Bobby's place. They'd stayed in a lot of different places over the years, but never, _not once,_ had they ever had a place to call their own.

But now they had a home and they were still together.

The Darkness and every other evil thing was still out there and they had to deal with all of that. But right now, Dean was going to deal with three things only. He was going to get his brother comfortable. He was going to eat popcorn and spend the day watching Netflix with his brother because they were both alive.

There were a few perks to their job and flexibility was one of them.

Reaching Sam's bedroom, Dean teased, "You gonna want me to fluff up your pillows?"

"Yeah."

Dean did a double take. That hadn't been what he'd expected at all. But Sam didn't look like he was joking around. He reached the edge of the bed and slumped down, arms around his waist. Considering he hadn't even been out of bed that long, he looked exhausted. Dean smiled a little and fluffed up the pillows.

Sam sank into them with a sigh and curled up on his side. He looked about three deep breaths from falling asleep, but forced his eyes open. Glancing up, he asked, "You gonna start the show?"

"You're almost asleep." Dean shook his head. "We can watch later and-"

"I don't mind," Sam interrupted. He yawned, then said, "I'll just listen. It's mostly shooting and munching anyway."

Unable to hold back a laugh, Dean patted Sam on the shoulder and said, "More popcorn for me."

"Mmm hmm."

Dean grabbed the remote and hit play as he settled on the bed next to his brother.

* * *

Sam turned the tv off and glanced to his left. Dean was sound asleep sitting up against the headboard. When exactly he'd dozed off, Sam didn't know.

They'd spent the better part of the day watching back to back episodes, even though he'd slept through fifty-percent of it. Sam smiled and settled a little more comfortably. He thought about the past few days. The ups and downs. The nightmare of everything that had happened in Idaho. Their conversation about firsts.

"Hey," Dean's soft voice interrupted his thoughts, "you ok?"

"Yeah. I'm good." Sam shifted against his pillow and looked up at his brother. "You missed the end of the episode."

Dean yawned and rubbed his eyes. "You missed most of _all_ the episodes."

Sam smiled and closed his eyes. It had been less about watching tv for him and more about the fact they were together and...not dead. He'd rested more comfortably today than he had ever since he'd been shot.

"What're you smiling about?"

The bed shifted and Sam opened his eyes again. Dean was studying him with a curious expression on his face. Knowing he would get teased for his reply, Sam answered honestly nonetheless.

"I'm glad you're here."

Dean's eyebrows rose and Sam waited for the mouthy remark. Instead, Dean said, "Yeah. I'm glad you're here, too."

This time Sam was the one surprised. Not about what Dean had said, but about the fact he'd _said_ it. Obviously, everything they'd gone through had left Dean a little more open than he typically was.

Clearing his throat, Dean looked away and said, "The first time-"

Sam frowned, holding his breath. Dean had broken off and whatever he was about to say clearly wasn't easy for him. He was staring blankly at the wall, but Sam knew he was seeing something else. After a long moment, Dean went on.

"The first time you died, I...it all ended. It all ended for me right then." Dean still wasn't looking at him and his words were nearly whispered. "I didn't know how to-"

"I know," Sam cut him off, sensing how difficult this was for his brother. "I know, Dean. I felt the same way when-"

"You don't get it." Dean pushed himself to the edge of the bed, the tension evident in his posture.

"What?" Sam was dumbfounded.

"You don't get it."

"Like hell I don't!"

Dean didn't move, but said, "It's different."

"How is it different? Didn't you listen to _anything_ I said before?" Sam asked, pushing himself up, too.

He didn't receive a reply and Sam gritted his teeth; partially out of frustration and partially out of pain. Pressing his hand to his side, he sat up on the opposite side of the bed, his own back turned to his brother. Sometimes he felt like Dean never heard him. Shaking his head, he wondered where they went from here.

"You're right," Dean said softly after a very long period of silence. "It isn't different. I want it to be, but it isn't."

Well that was new and unexpected. Turning slightly, Sam didn't look at his brother, but asked, "Why do you want it to be different?"

"Because I never wanted you to get hurt and I never wanted you to feel the kind of pain I felt every time you _did."_ Dean sighed. "I never cared if some idiot beat me up, so long as he left you alone. I didn't care if I missed out on something, as long as you got to try it if you wanted to. Whatever injury I got on a hunt, I could handle it. But if you got hurt, it was different. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I never wanted you to care so much...because I know how much it hurts to care that much."

Sam's eyes burned as understanding washed over him. It was as if Dean had finally translated an ancient text that Sam had been staring at for a lifetime, yet never been able to read. All these years, Sam had never been able to understand why Dean would never allow him to be protective. To be worried. To _care._ He'd always attributed it to the fact that, egotistical as he sometimes acted, Dean never saw his own worth. His own value.

And although Sam had no doubts but what that played an important role in the situation, now he _finally_ was being allowed a glimpse of Dean's deepest feelings. Not only was he protective and always trying to keep Sam from injury, he was also trying to protect him from the pain of caring when _Dean_ was injured or mistreated. Dean didn't care that _he'd_ been taken advantage of as a teenager, but he would have completely lost it if the same thing had happened to Sam. Dean would take a bullet for him, but couldn't handle the idea that Sam would do the same. And he couldn't handle the fact that Sam's pain at his death had been just as profound as Dean's pain had been when Sam had died at Cold Oak.

It was amazing that, after a lifetime of living side by side, Sam was finally getting to know his brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For telling me that. For helping me to understand." Sam shifted and looked over his shoulder. Dean was still sitting with his back to him and had his head in his hands. Sam repeated, "I understand. I didn't. I never did. But now I do."

Dean straightened up. He didn't turn, but said, "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Sammy."

"Ok."

This time Dean did turn to look at him and Sam could see the emotion was bright in his brother's eyes.

"I understand where you're coming from now," Sam said. "You understand where I'm coming from, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Then we're good."

"We are?" Dean frowned at him.

"We aren't?"

"Uh...no. I...I mean, yeah. Yeah. We are." Dean floundered for a bit, then smiled. "We're good."

Sam returned the smile. "So."

"So?"

"So what now?"

"What now _tonight_ or what now _everything else_?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"How about what now tonight? I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with everything else yet."

"Works for me." Dean nodded and stood up. "As far as tonight? You are lying down and going back to sleep."

Sam wanted to protest, but he was already having trouble keeping his eyes open despite the fact he'd slept most of the day. He settled back against the pillows and asked, "What about you?"

"Me? I think I'm gonna grab a beer and go to the shooting range."

"Don't stay up too late," Sam said, not bothering to ask why his brother needed to go shoot things at eleven pm.

Dean paused at the door and asked, "Why? You worrying about me, little brother?"

Sam adjusted the blankets, then said, "Not even a little."

"No?" Dean smirked.

"No. I just don't want you to stay up all night because I want pancakes again in the morning." Sam smiled sweetly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sorry, dude. I don't think you deserve any more special treatment."

"But I got shot!"

"Yeah, and you're starting to make me annoyed enough to forget that fact."

Sam closed his eyes, still smiling. Because it was good to hear his brother's teasing again and to know things were going back to normal. And it was good to know he might actually have gotten through to his brother.

He'd known his entire life how important Dean was to him. After all these years, maybe he'd finally been able to help his brother understand.

* * *

Dean watched Sam fall asleep.

And then he went to his room and climbed into his own bed. He didn't go to the shooting range and he didn't stay up late. Because Sam wanted pancakes in the morning. And he'd been shot. Which kind of earned him some more time to be lazy and needy and a complete pain in the ass.

Dean went to bed because he was tired and knew he needed the rest. He went to bed and he slept better than he had in ages. And he slept that way because he understood what Sam had been trying to tell him. He accepted something he hadn't truly accepted before.

He accepted the fact that he was important.

Sam had proven it to him endlessly over the years.

Dean just hadn't been paying attention.

Maybe he was only important to one person. Maybe he only ever had been.

But that one person was the most important person to _him_ so it all worked out in the end.

 _ **~The End~**_

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed!**

 **As a little heads up on what's ahead for me... I have a humorous story that will likely be posted next. It's complete and just needs some polish then it will be ready to go. :) I have a few other stories in the works as well; finally getting into season 12. I am not sure if i'll be posting in November or not because** **I'm participating in NaNoWriMo yet again. :D**

 **As a point of interest to any of you who have read _The Christmas Spirit_ and/or _Face Down in the Desert,_ my NaNo project this year is going to be the story of Tommy and Arla Pender. :) From the night they met going forward to everything up to when they meet the boys in _TCS._ :D **

**Anyway! Hope you all enjoyed this journey; I loved writing and sharing it with you!**

 **Until next time, best wishes and happy reading! :)**


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